


Giving up, Giving in

by PoolexBordey_Forever



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, Robert Thorogood's A Meditation on Murder, Robert Thorogood's The Killing of Polly Carter, Separation, Unrequited Love, book-related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoolexBordey_Forever/pseuds/PoolexBordey_Forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens if Camille decides to stop being in love with Richard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been missing Richard and Camille fanfics, so I wrote one. Again. Plus, I'm stuck with my other R+C fanfic so what's my solution? Write a new one in the hope that I can jumpstart my brain for the other one. Does it make sense? Not at all? Sorry to have burdened you with my logic. (T_T) 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not sure if I should tag this as a spoiler when it's not really too spoilery of Robert Thorogood's second DiP novel, "The Killing of Polly Carter." I just came up with the idea of writing an 'aftermath' to the ending of this book. If you've already read the second novel, I'm sure you know what I'm referring to. The part where Richard and Camille parted ways at the station, Richard choosing to stay and not go out for drinks with his team just to prove a point and Camille leaving disappointed because of his refusal. It was the part where I really wanted to throw the book at a wall or stomp on it to death. It just irritated me to high heavens.
> 
> So I thought of a fanfic to 'torture' Richard a little bit for it. LOL. In another note, I recently came across this saying: "You never know the value of what you have till you lose it." And there is some truth to that, isn't it? That we sometimes take people, things, conveniences, circumstances, etc., for granted, that we lose sight of how important they are to us. That we forget to be grateful for them. It's the lesson I hope Richard and Camille will eventually learn in this fanfic. Although, I'm not sure yet how to get them there. As always, your feedback is welcome and thank you for taking the time to read my story. Here it goes...

* * *

"Where's the chief?" they asked.

"Well, he seemed not interested in joining us," Camille shrugged. "I asked him and even offered to buy him a drink. But he didn't say anything."

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged glances.

"What?" Camille demanded.

"Well, it's just that you are usually able to persuade him to come for after-work drinks, Camille," explained Fidel.

"Is your convincing power waning?" teased Dwayne.

"Hey, it's not like my convincing power works every time." She shrugged again. "Maybe he really is not just in the mood to celebrate."

"But we solved a murder and he successfully brought back romance to the lives of his parents," said Fidel, confused.

Camille didn't say anything. She really didn't have any explanation to give to Fidel. Usually, she would come up with an excuse for their boss' unsociable behaviour accompanied by righteous anger and frustration. But surprisingly tonight, she was not seething at all. In fact, she felt like she had finally accepted something. She took a swig of her beer and remained silent.

"You know what I think, Camille. He lost his celebratory mood when you refused to call him Chief," Dwayne said matter-of-factly.

Camille gave him a derisive snort and shook her head. "What is so important about that? I call him 'sir' which is a more respectful way to address a superior officer, am I right? Why do I have to call him Chief?" She shook her head again. "That's just him wanting me to stroke him pompous ego." Now, she was seething inside.

"Camille, Camille," Dwayne pacified. "It may look like that but it can also be that he considered being called Chief as a term of endearment."

Camille rolled her eyes at this. "Him? The only person on this island as stiff and unfeeling as a starched shirt? You must be joking, Dwayne."

"Alright, maybe not a term of endearment, but maybe as a term of acceptance or belonging. You know, even the Commissioner calls him Chief sometimes. So maybe you should call him Chief from now on," Dwayne hurriedly explained.

But that explanation didn't go down well with Camille at all. "Are you saying I be like one of the boys, Dwayne? Is that it? That the only way our boss will feel welcome on this island is when I call him Chief? Hah! Not going to happen."

"Camille, Dwayne is merely suggesting that you make concession for the Chief, you know. Maybe you can just call him Chief from time to time. To sort of break up the sir?" added Fidel helpfully.

"I said NOT going to happen, Fidel." She said, obviously annoyed. But she quickly schooled her features lest her colleagues think she was just being immature and stubborn about it. She felt the need to clarify. "Look, I appreciate you guys providing logical reasons for why he is obsessed with being called Chief. But like I said, I won't do it even if he ordered me to. And it's not about being stubborn or disrespectful. It's about my right to respectfully address him in my own way."

Dwayne and Fidel just exchanged worried looks. They suddenly realised the issue probably ran counter to Camille's beliefs on respect. Seeing this reaction from her fellow officers, she felt the need to reassure them. "You have nothing to worry about. I respect him as our senior officer. He has already earned that because he's a brilliant detective and an effective leader. If we're in an official setting, I would introduce him as our Chief of Police, sure. But I will not, under any circumstances, address him as Chief because I have no wish to pander to this childish obsession about titles. I'm a human being not a drone. So sorry but it's just how I feel about it."

A long silence fell into their small group. They seemed to be minding their own thoughts while cradling the beers in their hands.

Camille sighed and broke the silence first. "Look, let's not talk about him anymore. We're here because we successfully solved a case. So he may not be here but that doesn't mean we, as a team, shouldn't celebrate. I think we did great. Fidel, you were right about the raincoat and Dwayne, you were right about Luc. So here's to us!"

The two officers finally smiled and clinked their bottles with her. Truth be told, they actually did a pretty good job. They needed this, so whatever disagreement their two senior officers had, they attributed it to them having their usual spat, which they got over quickly anyway.

"Maybe the Chief will join us next time," Fidel said hopefully.

"Maybe," Camille said, unconvinced. "But I will no longer invite him to go with us for after-work drinks. Seems like I've used up all my persuading powers, as you called it, on him. I feel like he will just balk at me if I try to invite him again. So I'm not going to anymore."

"Ah but if you call him Chief, he'll be putty in your hands," Dwayne pointed out cheekily.

Camille gave him THE look.

"Dwayne," Fidel scolded the older officer.

"What? I was just joking." He shrugged back. Camille gave him another look. "Alright, alright. To make amends, I'll be the one to invite him every time. I can't promise I can persuade him but I'll try."

"Then let's drink to that," said Camille finally smiling.

It was before midnight when they went their separate ways. Camille helped her maman close up the bar before she headed to her own apartment. Fidel and Dwayne were good company and very dear friends. Despite the grueling work hours and emotional rollercoaster that the case brought, she was thankful she got to unwind with them. She refused to think about her stubborn boss who should have been there but wasn't. 'He made a choice, it was his loss,' she rationalised.

"So Richard didn't join you guys for drinks?" asked Catherine as she placed bottles and glasses away. "How come?"

"He is probably tired from solving the case, Maman, and from dealing with his parents," Camille explained as she packed away napkins in the bar.

"Well, it was sweet of him to make an effort to reconcile his parents. His mother, Jennifer, is a lovely woman," Catherine said. "What is his father like?"

Camille jogged her memory. She had only met Graham Poole briefly. "Hmm...he is like the older version of Richard. Very English but I guess, not as uptight as Richard."

"Perhaps, old age had tempered that English uptightness somewhat," laughed Catherine. "I wonder if Richard would be the same?"

Camille just shrugged. She didn't point out to her mother that Richard's father was married to a smart and strong woman and that maybe she was the reason for his change. As for Richard, she doubted if he would change his ways when he reached old age. Probably even a woman couldn't change him, she thought. 'I tried. But then again, he wasn't in love with me. Maybe he needed to be in love with a person so he could change, who knows.' She resisted the urge to pout in the presence of Catherine's very perceptive eyes. When they were done, she kissed her mother goodbye and set off to her apartment.

She resolved some things that night. When she stepped down from the stairs of the station, leaving Richard behind, she felt her heart clenched with invisible hurt and disappointment. The pedantic and dense Englishman could be quite cruel to her without knowing it. She sighed. Since when did she become so thin-skinned? She lingered for a few moments and looked at the vast ocean, it was such a pretty sight to behold. She imagined the coming waves washing away her disappointment and hope. For good.

If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that she was getting tired of always making the effort to include him, to befriend him, to get close to him. Her attempts at not keeping him isolated from the team were met with resistance, reluctant acceptance and on a good day, just grudging agreement. But most of the time, she would get rebuffed or outrightly rejected. She wished she could keep trying but her emotional reserves were being depleted. All the negativity, his negativity, was getting to her and she hated it.

But his recent issue about her not calling him Chief really was the final straw. Why was it so important to him? She had this nagging feeling that it was his pompous way of showing her who was boss and putting her in her place. She felt sad and angry. Hadn't they known each other for two years? Sure, she was disrespectful at times but only if she needed to point out the bigger picture, which he tended to miss. Also, she would get annoyed with him for his meticulous ways but she always deferred to his better judgment in the end. As for her teasing, she had hoped that he had gotten used to it by now because she thought they were friends.

Apparently after two years of working together, they were not. It was a painful realization. She wished she could brush the whole thing aside, but if she did, she won't be able to work with him. She would feel awkward and unprofessional. So she had better face it and make a choice. And what she chose and resolved to do was to treat him just as a colleague, a superior officer, one that she had to work with (and put up with). She would no longer try too hard to be his friend or even aim to be more than his friend. She would also give up any romantic feelings for him. Perhaps, it would be better that way.

Before she went to bed, she poured herself a glass of wine, turned on her old record player and put on The Supremes vinyl album. Diana Ross, Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson's harmonious singing came on smoothly and demanding, _"Set me free why don't cha babe?…Cause you keep me hanging on."_ She swayed to the music, closing her eyes. This was a very good song for her. It was like a fighting song, an empowering talisman of sort. Yes, it was time to be free of this limbo of emotions she felt for her boss. It was time to move on. She laughed. 'Silly woman. There was nothing to move on from in the first place,' she berated inwardly. 'Oh well, it all ends tonight and tomorrow will be a new day for this new Camille.'

\------------------

She woke up bright and early. She was a bit surprised she didn't have any hangover. But again, she didn't drink too much last night. Two beers with Dwayne and Fidel plus that glass of wine before going to bed. Those wouldn't make a dent on her. She drank her coffee and changed into her running clothes. She felt different today. Released from alternately feeling sad and hopeful about her boss because of her resolution, she no longer feel like an infatuated schoolgirl.

She was a woman, a powerful woman. She looked at herself in the mirror. No more flirting. No more meaningful glances. No more banter. No more getting hopeful. No more feeling disappointed. She just wanted to focus on pure professional work and career advancement. Perhaps, even move to Paris again. Can she really do it? "I can and I will," she told herself. She put her headphones on and walked out the door. She would run her desires away, run every sadness and disappointment. She would run until she was exhausted and come back to her place to wash it all away in the shower. She would be her own person again, the one before Richard Poole came into her life.

\------------------

She walked into the station with her headphones on. She was listening to her 'empowerment' play list. She turned them off and pulled it down to her neck and said a cheery good morning to the room. She nodded and smiled at Fidel and Dwayne and sat on her chair. Richard was looking at her and she just gave him a brief smile, a nod and a "Sir" to acknowledge him before turning her focus on her PC. She took off her headphones and stashed it away in her bag. 'He probably flinched when I called him sir but who cares? I don't,' she said to herself.

Today was paperwork day. So she made sure to focus on her work diligently. She avoided looking at her boss who was busy with his own work anyway. Occasionally, he would ask a question and either Fidel or Dwayne would answer him. She didn't contribute to their banter but she would look up once in a while and give Fidel or Dwayne a smile or a shrug in answer to their question or two. She would only answer her boss if she was directly spoken to, but other than that she busied herself with writing her reports.

The three men seemed to notice that she was hard at work and really quite busy. So they rarely disturbed her. Richard couldn't help but glance at her every so often and saw her concentrating on the computer. He was surprised that she was pouring herself into her work with such focus and determination. She hardly talked to him. And for some unknown reason, he missed the sound of her voice.

Camille didn't know all that, she just wanted to do her work and be productive and maybe, she could catch up on her backlogs if no one gets murdered that day. She realised she was staring at her computer for quite some time and needed a break. She stood up and stretched her back. "Fidel, Dwayne do you guys want coffee?" she asked. They thanked her for her offer but passed on it. She went to the pantry to pour herself some. "How about you, sir? Do you want some coffee?" She said as politely as she could.

Richard looked studiously busy. "No thank you, Camille," he said dismissively without looking at her. She felt something prick at her heart but she put a stop to it by humming The Supremes song softly as the lyrics came to her head.

_"Set me free why don't cha babe_

_Get out my life why don't cha babe_

_'Cause you don't really love me_

_You just keep me hangin' on_

_You don't really need me_

_But you keep me hangin' on…"_

She kept humming it all the way back to her seat. She didn't see Richard watching her every move, hearing her humming to herself. She stopped, sipped her coffee and went back to work.

Richard was trying to identify what song she was humming but to no avail. He didn't really have any knowledge of pop songs. But he was beginning to get suspicious about her behaviour today. Was she sulking because of last night? It didn't seem like it because she was still talking to him. So it must be something else. He really should have apologised to his team for his absence during the celebratory drinks last night. But now the timing was no longer there and anyway Dwayne and Fidel told him about it this morning and he kind of apologised to them. But Camille wasn't there so he didn't know what to say to her.

She was probably annoyed or perhaps mad at him for not coming to La Kaz last night. Back then, he thought of changing his mind but was just too embarrassed to make a fool of himself in front of her. Plus, she started it. He was in a good mood for celebrating and she ruined it by being stubborn and pigheaded. He had to show her who was boss. He glanced at her again, secretly willing her to glance his way so he could look away from her. But her eyes were glued to her PC. He gave up and focused on his own paperwork.

Soon it was lunch time. Dwayne and Fidel were going out to lunch and mentioned they would also be patrolling the market. Camille grabbed her bag, took out her headphones and placed it on her neck. She intended not to spend lunch time with him as much as possible, especially when they were not really busy at the station or if there was no murder to solve. 'Lunch time should be my 'me' time," she thought to herself. 'It would be good to have time away from him. I have to take care of me and I can't do that if I'm at the beck and call of my boss.'

She turned off her PC and stood up. "Um sir, I'm going out to lunch. Do you have your lunch with you or do you need me to get you anything?"

Richard was startled by her voice. He looked at her desk and realized she was no longer there. He searched for her and saw her already standing by the doorway. She was looking at him expectantly. "Um, no, you go ahead and enjoy your lunch," he said, surprised that Camille was going out to lunch. She would usually invite him for lunch or she would go down the market and buy her own lunch and bring it back with her to the station to keep him company.

She gave him a curt nod, put on her headphones and left. Richard waited a couple of minutes and then hurriedly walked toward the verandah to see if he could catch a glimpse of Camille as she was leaving. He did. He saw her walking leisurely down the market and a feeling of dejavu hit him. This was exactly the scene he was in last night—he remembered watching Camille walk off looking disappointed, she had lingered and looked out to the sea as if contemplating something before heading toward La Kaz.

He knew he could have changed his mind then, followed her and probably just declare to her grumpily: "I'm allowed to change my mind." But he didn't. His arrogance and stubborn streak rooted him to the spot, looking at the receding figure of Camille in dismay. Something dropped at the pit of his stomach, bringing him back to the present. He felt like losing something important. But he couldn't figure it out just yet. He went back inside the station with a heavy heart.

Camille, for her part, was enjoying her playlist as she walked through the market. She smiled at the people who greeted her. She had decided to eat lunch at a cafe overlooking the beach, which was quiet and unassuming. She steered clear of her mother's bar because she didn't want her mother to think she was sulking about something. Her maman had a knack for deducing how she felt at any given time and she would definitely know she was trying to hide something. She just wanted to be left alone to think over what she really wanted to do with her life.

One thing was certain, she wanted to be good at her job and even more. She wanted to advance her career and not be stuck following someone else's orders. One day, she would be the one leading a team and solving the crime. But she knew she needed more experience, she needed to learn more. So she would bid her time, learn what she could and grow professionally in her current position. It seemed like a sensible plan. 'Richard will probably not be here long as I'm sure he is also just waiting until something opens up at the Met so he could go back,' she thought. Then corrected herself, 'I should probably not use his first name that often if I want to keep it strictly professional between us.'

She started jotting down her goals in life in a small journal she kept in her bag. Would she entertain dates? She wasn't sure about this at first but then decided, why not. Nothing serious, just for fun. She didn't want to commit to anyone for that would be contrary to her professional goals. But she was not going to be uptight like her boss. 'All work and no fun would make Camille a dull stick in the mud,' she thought. 'No, that is not going to happen.'

Next on her agenda was to update her combat skills. But that was already covered since Dwayne had given her a contact to a training gym a few days ago, which she promptly visited. The other thing she wanted to do was to take a refresher for the authorised firearms officer course, which would most likely need approval from her superior officer and the police commissioner. But top on her list was really to study for the detective inspector exam but she knew it would take some time, and that she also needed a recommendation to be put forward by her bosses. So she had to diligently work on that and find a way to get recommended.

Camille looked out to sea and breathed deeply. It felt nice to have a plan for her future. 'No more pining for someone who didn't really care about anything but himself,' she thought. But then she quickly scolded herself for going there. To be fair, she knew Richard was actually a good person and had his own way of caring about others. She also had to remind herself that he had his life and own ideals he wanted to stick to and these would never change. He would be the same person whether he was in Saint Marie or in London just as long as he was able to solve a murder. That was all he needed. And London, of course. So she came to understand him this way.

For her part, she wanted to experience what life had to offer. She loved her job but it was not going to be her everything. She knew fully well that there were other things in life worth living for like love and the pursuit of happiness. It was just unfortunate that she won't be finding love and its corresponding happiness with Richard or in Saint Marie.

Nonetheless, this would not stop her from being open to new things, embracing changes and taking chances. 'I guess, that's the huge gaping hole between us,' she sighed. She knew Richard was unwilling to compromise for anything or anybody. It was like he lived by his own code, which she failed to comprehend or accept. 'Well, it doesn't matter anymore,' she thought. 'I am my own person and I will go for what truly matters to me in this life.' She looked at her watch and saw it was almost time to go back. She stood up and strode off to the station.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Meanwhile, Dwayne and Fidel got back to the station with a few minutes to spare. As they negotiated the steps, they noticed right away that the station was quiet and thought the two senior officers had gone out to lunch. But when they went in, they only saw Richard staring bleakly at his computer.

"Have you eaten your lunch, sir?" Fidel asked.

"Yes, Fidel, thank you for asking," said Richard wanly.

"Did you send Camille on an errand?" Dwayne asked.

"No, she went out to lunch," Richard replied, increasingly sounding more tired than usual.

"Oh, she'll probably be on her way back now," Dwayne said.

Richard heaved an audible sigh. Fidel and Dwayne looked at him. "Sir?"

"I did apologise to you guys for not showing up at the celebratory drinks last night, right?" he asked them. The two officers nodded. "But Camille wasn't here so I wasn't able to tell her. Was she annoyed at me last night?"

"No, sir. She understood that you were probably tired from solving the case," Fidel said reassuringly.

"I see," he said going back to his desk. "Still, I couldn't help feel that she was avoiding me. So I don't think that's a normal reaction for someone who understood."

"Well, it was a bit annoying to not show up for celebratory drinks when we agreed that we're all going to go," Dwayne said petulantly.

"See that's what I think," said Richard, standing up from his desk again and approaching Fidel and Dwayne.

"Really, sir, you have nothing to worry about. Everything's fine with Camille," said Fidel.

"Look, Chief, if it bothers you that much why don't you just talk to her about it," Dwayne suggested.

"I can't…I'm not really good with that sort of thing. I guess, I'll just let her be for a while," Richard said with a tone of resignation.

Just then, Camille walked into the station and was quite surprised at the sight that greeted her. The three male police officers of her station were huddled in one corner of the room. She resisted the urge to smile and tease them. Instead, she gave them a pointed look with one eyebrow raised, as if asking them what they were doing. The three men just gave her curt nods and went casually back to their desks without a word.

The day languished on until there was a call from a resort hotel about a burglary. Though he usually left this call to his junior officers, Richard thought it would be a good opportunity for him to talk with Camille. So he volunteered them both for the job. "Camille, let's go check this out," he said. Camille just nodded, quickly got her bag and went down to the Defender, not bothering to wait for him.

Inside the vehicle, they sat in uncomfortable silence. Richard was debating whether this was the right time to talk to her or not. But she seemed determined to talk about the burglary at the hotel. When there was a lull in their discussion of the case, Richard took the opportunity to make small talk.

"Um, Camille is everything alright?" he said, sounding casual.

"Sir?" Camille asked, diligently negotiating the road ahead.

"You seem to be off somewhere or a bit distracted?" answered Richard, still acting casual.

"Distracted?" she asked, her voice rising a little bit higher than she intended.

"I mean, not distracted, but, what's the word…" he stammered. "Um, a bit aloof, I suppose."

"Aloof?" she asked again. This time, she couldn't help sounding incredulous.

"It's hard to explain really, but yeah, aloof, " he clarified and prayed she would understand what he was talking about. "Um…towards me, I suppose."

"You, sir? I hardly think I was being aloof. Did I ignore you?" she asked as she gave him a quick glance.

"Um, no." He had to admit that she didn't do such a thing. But he couldn't pinpoint the exact thing he felt around her. Blasted 'feelings'!

"Have I properly and respectfully communicated to you the necessary information that you needed for the case," she asked again.

"Yes." He wondered where this line of questioning would lead. But he actually thought she made sense.

"Have I, under any circumstances of us working together today, refused to talk to you or not answer your questions or discuss the facts of the case?"

"No. Of course not!" He was surprised to hear he sounded exasperated.

"So I'm not acting aloof, am I?" she asked a bit triumphantly as she kept her eyes on the road.

"What I meant was you seemed stiff, unsociable…and distant," he clarified. He wanted to add ' _with me'_ but that would seem too self-centered.

"Sir, do you know you've just described yourself?" she forced herself to smile. She had a vague suspicion that her boss was picking up on her subdued mood all day and perhaps wanted to know why. She worked on deflecting it.

"Camille," he admonished, using a familiar tone with her when she was being too French or incorrigible.

She shook her head. "I don't know where you are getting this from, sir, but you, of all people, should know I'm the opposite of what you described. But I do know that I act professionally when it comes to my job. What you think is being aloof is just me being formal and professional. Isn't that an ideal thing? Isn't that what you've always wanted—a modicum of professionalism and decorum in the team?"

Richard thought for a moment. "Um, right of course." He was hoping to detect a hint of sarcasm in her voice but to his surprise, she talked rather seriously, which was quite a departure from their usual interaction. He was going to ask her another question, but they had already reached their destination. Richard looked at Camille as she got off the Defender first. 'There's definitely something eating at her,' he told himself. He just couldn't figure it out yet. He quickly got off the vehicle and walked after her.

Once in the scene, they automatically fell into their roles and divided the tasks. Camille was just all too happy to process the scene, she hadn't done it for quite a while so this would be a good refresher for her. Richard, on the other hand, interviewed the hotel manager and some of the staff. When they finally got together, Richard made observations while Camille provided the insights. They then talked to other witnesses together. Soon they were done with their preliminary investigation.

It actually went smoothly. "Too smoothly," Richard thought as they were walking toward the Defender. For once Camille didn't counter him or rolled her eyes at him. They worked methodically and with little interruption. He could actually get used to this as it would mean they were focusing on the tasks at hand and not dillydallying with banter and other unnecessary exchanges. But another part of him felt uncomfortable. It was just too sterile, too perfect. This was not how he worked with Camille. She was usually rude, mercurial, empathetic and liked pushing the boundaries of proper procedure. What happened?

On the way to the station, Richard mulled over this thought repeatedly. He couldn't make heads or tails of what was happening between him and Camille. It felt like something had shifted and it wasn't for the better. He sighed and rubbed his temple. This was giving him a headache. But he thought it was the right time to apologise to her about last night and get it out of the way. It was probably what she wanted from him, he told himself. 'Maybe that's why she was acting this way.'

"Um, Camille," he started. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't go for celebratory drinks with the team."

"It's alright, sir. You probably have your reasons not to go. We understand," Camille said kindly without looking at him. "Sometimes you are not up to drinking with us and we shouldn't take that against you. When we invite you for drinks, it follows that you have the choice to refuse. So think nothing of it."

"Yeah, but I originally agreed and then reneged on that agreement," Richard continued, hoping to keep her talking.

"Well, it was always your prerogative, isn't it? You can agree at first, then change your mind later," Camille pointed out, careful not to put too much emotion in her voice. "I mean, Dwayne, Fidel and I do the same thing sometimes, so it's alright." She didn't add anything anymore as it would only dredge up the disappointment she felt that night. And she wasn't sure she could stop herself from berating him. She resolved never to do that again. But she also knew there would be times Richard would really try her patience. And this was becoming close to one of those times.

"Oh for crying out loud, stop the car!" he said suddenly irritated. Camille was being understanding but here he was getting extremely frustrated with it. Was there something wrong with his head? Richard thought.

"What?! Here? It's in the middle of nowhere, sir!" Camille was now trying very hard not to shout at him.

"Yes, just stop on the side safely. That's an order." Richard replied rather curtly.

Camille was perplexed. What could have set her boss off now? She had no idea but she did what he ordered. She waited for his tirade. It was actually taking all her will power to stop herself from shouting back. She promised she won't be affected by his rant. She wouldn't retaliate in her usual way. She would just accept whatever he wanted to say and let him pop a vein or two in anger if he wanted to, she thought.

Richard was red in the face, working himself up for his rant. It wasn't mostly due to anger really. It was more like mounting embarrassment at having to order her to stop the vehicle on a roadside just to talk. But he had a reputation to maintain and he could chalk everything up to being grumpy. "Look. If there is something wrong, tell me. I'm right here. I just don't know what I did wrong to have to suffer this…" he waved his hands.

"This? Sir?" Camille asked, keeping her voice as neutral as she could as she gave a him a quick glance.

"That, what you're doing?"

"I haven't done anything. Frankly, sir, why are you being like this? I haven't done anything that warrant this kind of behaviour from you. Have I, in all honesty, treat you with disrespect today?"

"No."

"Have I followed any of your orders to the letter when you ordered me to?"

"Yes."

"Have I argued or answered back or rolled my eyes at you?"

"No."

"Then, why are we here on the side of the road discussing something that I have no clue about? Can you please tell me, what's going on?"

It felt to Richard that Camille had turned the tables on him. Again. That he was the one acting strange and he felt quite annoyed by it. Was she deliberately being dense or was she just trying to rile him up like she usually does? But it didn't feel that way. It seemed like she changed into someone he wasn't used to and he didn't like the change at all. 'Well, two can play at that game,' he thought irritatedly. 'If she wants to be as stubborn as I am. Then so be it.' But he mentally stopped himself. It wasn't the course of action he really wanted to take. Deep inside, he just wanted to get back to how they were before. If he did what he did last night, the carefully built relationship with his DS would come tumbling down on him. So he chose to be honest, for once.

"Why do you not call me Chief?" he suddenly asked.

"Is this what this is all about?" asked Camille back, utterly flummoxed. This time, she really couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "Would you be happy and feel welcome if I call you Chief? Would it make you feel at ease if I start calling you, Chief, like 'one of the boys'?"

"I didn't mean it like that I was just…"

"Or better yet, you could order me to call you Chief. You would like that, wouldn't you? Showing me who's boss and pulling rank on me. Seriously, sir, of all the pompous, self-centered, childish things you'd done, this takes the cake. Well, go on then, if it makes your ego feel better, order me to call you Chief. Go on." She said between gritted teeth. Despite reining in her emotions, she still let that challenging tone slip. She didn't look at him, fearing her anger would reflect in her eyes. Instead, she looked forward and gripped the steering wheel so tightly, turning her knuckles white.

Richard didn't know what to say. He hadn't meant to be at the receiving end of such a loaded accusation. He only meant to provoke her and get the old Camille back. But what came out was a deadly serious Camille. The one who spoke in an even and oh-so-distant tone, not the feisty, mercurial, compassionate woman he'd known for two years. He knew this was not her usual rant, it felt like it was more personal. He cringed at the thought and found himself stuttering.

"I...I don't mean it like that…I just…want to…look we're friends. I just want to…" he couldn't finish what he wanted to say because somewhere in him he knew that her accusation was right. He wanted to show her who was boss. Years of wanting to prove himself, of being isolated, of not fitting in, of not belonging had created this 'monster' within him. An arrogant, competitive little self hiding behind his gruff exterior who thrived and demanded respect from others because of his superior abilities and intelligence as a detective. But he wasn't proud of that self. He wanted to get rid of it because it had wrecked havoc on his relationships with people. But it was easier said than done. It had protected him for so long that he couldn't just let it go.

Camille broke into his train of thought, not minding that he didn't finish what he wanted to say. She was mad at herself for losing control, for acting unprofessional. She had to, at least, smooth things out with him. "Look, sir. I respect you as my boss and all I ask of you is to respect the way I refer to you, the way I wanted to call you. The truth is, I like working with you. Professionally, we make a good team and I'd like to keep it that way."

Richard let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He made a hash of everything again. Why was it never easy to deal with his emotions when it came to Camille? He needed to re-think the events that lead them here and pinpoint where it went wrong. He felt guilty at the thought that he may have inadvertently hurt her. That the ugly monster within him had pushed her away.

"Sir?" This time Camille looked at him directly, but he was unable to meet her eyes. He gave her a sideway glance.

"Yes?" he finally asked.

"So, it's alright for me to call you Sir?" Camille asked. She genuinely wanted to know if he respected her decision.

"Yes. If it's what you want, it's fine by me," he said with resignation. He strongly resisted the urge to sigh.

"So, can we head on back to the station now, sir?" asked Camille as she brought the Defender back to life.

"Yes." Richard sounded defeated. He couldn't help but feel that something dreadful had happened, that he had lost Camille as a friend and he didn't like it.

They drove in silence. Each distracted by his or her own thoughts.

It took Camille all the energy she could muster to keep calm and collected. She had a lot to say to him. A lot to say that she could never say ever because either he would get hurt or turn their working relationship sour. And that was the last thing she wanted. She respected Richard and she knew that beneath all that bluster, he was a good man. It was what she liked about him. But she also knew having romantic feelings for him would be detrimental to both of them. For one thing, regulations forbade it. For another, he wasn't interested in her in that way. If, by some sort of miracle, he was, she was pretty sure he wouldn't act on it because of regulations. He was simply that kind of person. So it was right to give up. Besides, it was useless to fight for something that was never there in the first place.

As for the other things that she would say to him, she would probably tell him when he leaves the island or when she moves to Paris for good, whichever came first. 'Wow, I'm really thinking about leaving the island?' She thought to herself in amazement. A year ago it was impossible for her to even think about it because she was in the throes of her feelings for Richard, that she wouldn't even think of leaving him. But now that she had a plan, she was open to the possibility even more. Well, it was probably best for her and for Richard to part ways sooner or later.

She parked the Defender in its usual spot at the station. She hadn't glanced at her boss for quite some time. She just assumed he fell asleep. But when she looked at him. He was actually gazing out the window, lost in thought. Something in the way he looked would make the old Camille reassure him, make him feel at ease. But she wasn't the old Camille anymore. For him, she was just an outsider looking in. So she decided against making any moves to comfort him even though it proved harder than she thought.

"Sir? Are we good? I mean, you and I," she said in a formal tone.

"Yes," Richard nodded absentmindedly. "Of course."

"Good," she said and gave him what seemed like a half-hearted smile. She got out of the Defender and headed up the stairs.

Richard was left contemplating what just happened. He collected his bag and stepped out the vehicle. He was still thinking about the exchange he had with Camille. It seemed everything went from bad to worst. But he forced himself to compartmentalize and to focus on his job. Work was his only refuge, his consolation amidst the complicated world of emotions and women he didn't understand. He would think about the other stuffs later. So he straightened his jacket and tie, squared his shoulders and resolutely walked up the station.

The day continued to be uneventful. Richard and Camille talked briefly about the hotel burglary with Fidel and Dwayne to keep them updated. But it seemed the crime was an inside job. They hadn't rounded the usual suspects yet but they would look into it first thing tomorrow morning. Richard handed out tasks and the rest of the team became busy with the job assigned to them. Neither Camille nor Richard said a word after that, they were both engrossed on their computers.

It was nearing late afternoon when Camille looked at her watch. She tidied up her desk and looked at Richard: "Sir, I'm getting off early if we don't have any more reports to do for the case. If that's all right?"

Richard looked up at her briefly and shuffled some documents on his desk. "It's fine. I think we can pick up where we left off tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir," said Camille as she took out her headphones and placed it on her neck.

"Aww…got a date?" asked Dwayne cheekily. At this, Richard pricked his ears a little but continued with his paperwork, resisting the urge to look up.

"No," Camille said simply. "I have an appointment with Reuben, remember? I'm trying out his training program today."

"Oh? Good to know. You'll like him. He's strict but he brings out your potential," said Dwayne. "Be careful of his right."

"Thanks for referring him to me," Camille said cheerfully. "I better be going. I don't want to be late for my first session."

She nodded at Fidel and walked out without a backward glance at Richard.

"Reuben?" inquired Fidel, voicing what Richard was unable to ask.

"Just some fellow I know who's good at physical training," said Dwayne in a low voice.

"Camille needs physical training?" asked Fidel not understanding.

"Exercise and self-defense, man," said Dwayne. "It seems like she wants to go back to the gym and get fit or something."

"But she's plenty fit already," Fidel said, puzzled.

Dwayne shook his head and whispered, "Maybe it's for stress-reduction," he said as he looked at the direction of their chief, who was diligently pouring over his notes.

Fidel smiled and just shook his head at what Dwayne said. "So what kind of training session is she doing?" He couldn't help ask.

Dwayne gave him a smile back and did some punches in the air.

"Really?" Fidel asked incredulously. "I didn't think she would need it. She's very good at hand-to-hand combat."

At this, Richard looked up from his work. His attention piqued. "Who's good at hand-to-hand combat?" He pretended he wasn't listening in on their conversation by asking this question.

Both officers successfully feigned surprise. "Um, Camille, sir," Fidel answered.

Richard just nodded. "She did say she could beat me in a fistfight once. And I wholeheartedly believe her."

"Oh she can take down any man. She may not have the strength but she has the speed and skills to do it," agreed Dwayne.

"So is she receiving combat training?" asked Richard unable to stop his curiosity.

"No sir. She just wanted to go back to the gym and get fitter," said Dwayne. "She was complaining about losing stamina from too much sitting by her desk. She wanted to be active again."

"But she usually does her morning run at the beach. I often see her very early in the morning, running 10 kilometers," said Fidel.

"Well, she probably misses being on her toes all the time. Remember she did undercover work before and that had a very hectic schedule," said Dwayne.

At hearing this, Richard couldn't help but nod, it was like something clicked in his head. 'Maybe she wanted to go back to undercover work?' was what came to his mind. He dismissed the thought. 'Surely, Camille wouldn't want to be separated from her mother and her friends again. Friends? Does she consider me a friend, too?' He couldn't help giving in to a frown.

Both Dwayne and Fidel saw his reaction. "Don't worry, Chief. I'm sure Camille is not thinking of going back to undercover work," Dwayne said confidently.

"I hope not," he managed to say, forcing himself to sound nonchalant. "Aside from us losing one of the best DS around, HR would probably whinge at the personnel change. What with no suitable replacement and limited budget and all that."

Dwayne and Fidel just smiled. Their chief seemed definitely afraid to lose his best DS.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

When Camille got Reuben's number from Dwayne, she didn't waste time contacting the trainer and visiting the gym he owned. Reuben was an older gentleman, 10 years Dwayne's senior, and had been Dwayne's close mate and coach when they were younger. He trained Dwayne to be a competitive fighter but he soon realized that the 'juvenile delinquent' had other plans, namely he wanted to join the police force. Still, they kept in touch and sometimes, if he wasn't 'serenading' the ladies of Saint-Marie, Dwayne would go to the gym to workout. 'But the fool has become quite lazy,' Reuben would say of Dwayne.

Camille talked to Reuben about what her goals were and that she wanted to train as if she was going to a fight. But Reuben wanted to start her off nice and easy given that it would be her first time to learn boxing. Camille thought his plan made sense and agreed. Of course being a diligent learner, she already took the time to do some reading and researching about the sport beforehand. She also didn't want to look like a total amateur in a professional boxing gym.

When she got to her apartment, she quickly changed into her workout gear. She decided it would be best to wear a loose-fitting muscle t-shirt over her sports tank top and a pair of sports leggings. She grabbed a water bottle, a clean t-shirt, a towel and her hand wraps and dumped them in a backpack. She tied her hair up tight and put on her trainers. She grabbed her helmet and wheeled her vintage Mustang pony motorbike out of her front door.

The diminutive bike was a high school graduation gift from her maman and it had been kept in storage when she moved to Paris. She was grateful her mother had foresight to maintain it over the years and to keep it in good shape. Otherwise, she wouldn't have her own ride. She remembered how her mother showed her where she kept it with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her maman was always one step ahead of her it seemed.

When Camille showed it to Dwayne, who loved all things motorbike, he was in complete awe at the sight of it. He couldn't even believe that she knew how to ride it. She got the feeling Dwayne had developed a newfound respect for her that day. But Camille was only too happy to have her own transportation now that she decided to start a program at a gym. She didn't need to borrow the Defender or hail a taxi, she had her motorbike, which gave her an inexplicable feeling of independence and freedom.

The boxing gym was located inland about a few kilometers from the docks. It was formerly a goods warehouse with a steel structure, concrete walls and high windows that remained open all throughout the day. Several duct fans lined its roof to circulate the air inside. It had one huge roller shutter door that served as its main entrance. Inside, fluorescent high bay lights illuminated the moderately spacious warehouse. Its ample high ceiling gave off the illusion that it was bigger on the inside.

The sparring ring was dead center, elevated a few feet off the ground. A row of punching bags and a couple of speed bags lined the far left wall with smooth rubber matting on the floor. The wall on the right side of the ring was lined by a full body mirror from end to end and had a shiny laminated wood flooring. It had a number of equipment and weights for cross fit and other upper body exercises. The gym's office, bathrooms and locker room were located at the back end of the warehouse.

Camille was actually impressed by the gym's tidy and organized setup. Clearly, Reuben took pride in owning the gym, making sure the old equipment were properly maintained and the place thoroughly spotless. Dwayne said the gym had been in Reuben's family for years. When his grandfather found out a warehouse near the docks was going to be demolished, he bought the land and the structure, which in those days was not an easy feat.

Money was hard to come by back then but his grandfather stubbornly worked hard to pay for it, spurred on by his passion for the sport. He had a dream of producing the most talented boxers in the whole Caribbean and he achieved it. Plaques of awards and recognition and even a championship belt adorned the walls of the office. Reuben, himself, was a product of this gym and had won quite a few titles. His reputation as well as his coaching style had attracted a number of men and women from all over Saint Marie to come to his gym.

Camille arrived early. She took off her helmet and parked her motorbike by the bicycle rack near the entrance. From inside the warehouse, she could hear the squeaking noise of rubber-soled shoes, the rhythmic tap-tap of jumping ropes on a wooden floor, the sound of punches, breaths and voices mingling together. She took a deep breath. It wasn't nervousness on her part, it was more like excited anticipation of beginning something new. She could feel her whole body getting into gear as if remembering the familiar feeling of going back to police training.

She walked into the warehouse, scanning the place for Reuben. There were a lot more men than women tonight. But each one was intensely doing his or her workout to spare her a look. She headed toward the locker room. She needed to get settled and start her warmups first. Having stowed her backpack in a locker, she walked to the exercise floor but a tall, young man, in his 20s, sidled beside her.

"I haven't seen you before. Is this your first time here?" he asked Camille casually as he quickly wiped the sweat off his brows with a towel.

"Yes. It's my first day," Camille smiled back, nonplussed.

"That's great. Welcome. If you need a tour or if you have a question about technique and such I can help you," said the lad, quite eagerly.

"Thank you…" she answered politely. She was going to ask him where Reuben was but he cut her off.

"By the way, who's your trainer? If he doesn't show up, I could take his place. You know, I've been doing this for quite some time and I could teach you a few new tricks along the way," he said smoothly.

Camille smiled and just raised her eyebrows in amusement. She was about to give him an answer when she saw Reuben walking behind the young man with a scowl on his face.

"New tricks?" Reuben boomed in his ears. "At this gym, we don't teach new tricks, you moron!"

The young man instantly stiffened as he heard the coach's voice behind him. He stepped aside and turned quickly. "I didn't mean new tricks as in parlour tricks or games, granddad. I meant new techniques."

For a man his age, Reuben's reflexes were still quick. He grabbed the young man by the neck and put him in a head lock. "New techniques? Boy, we only teach the proper, traditional way of boxing in this gym. And they can only be achieved through hard work, a lot of practice and experience. Did you even introduce yourself to Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey of the Honore Police Station?"

"Owww, granddad take it easy," the young man protested but his eyes suddenly widened at the revelation of Camille's rank and profession. "You're a police officer?"

Camille gave him the sweetest smile and nodded in confirmation. "And your grandfather is my trainer."

"See if you had asked her name first, then you would have known that piece of information beforehand," Reuben said as he let go of his grandson. "This is my grandson, Raul, by the way. He likes to chat up the ladies and pretend he's a professional boxer to impress them."

"Stop it, granddad! I can speak for myself," said Raul, rather crossly. "Sorry Detective Sergeant Bordey, I didn't mean to be rude earlier."

"It's alright. You just want me to feel welcome, I appreciate that. And you can call me, Camille. I'm already off-duty," she said reassuringly.

The young man smiled in spite of himself but a sudden slap on the back of his neck brought him back to reality. "Get back to your training! I don't want you to waste anymore of Camille's time when she's here to train." His grandfather boomed in his ears again.

Raul rolled his eyes, gave Camille a wordless salute and headed off to where the heavy bags were. "I'm sorry about his behaviour. Kids these days can be quite forward and rude."

"Don't worry about it," said Camille. "So, I was planning to warm up first…"

"Ah yes. Here take this," Reuben said, giving her a plastic speed rope. "Do you know how to jump rope?"

"Yes, I learned it in self-defence training and I also practised at home," said Camille.

"Good, good. That's the right attitude. Well, let's start you off on 3 rounds, you'll do 3 three-minute of continuous skipping as a warmup with a minute break in between. You think you can manage it?"

For Camille, there was no trying there was only "I can and I will." She nodded and took the rope. She swung the rope from side to side until she had a rhythm going. She opened the rope and stepped in, jumping up and down lightly. But after only a few seconds, she tripped on the rope. She groaned heavily. Apparently, she hadn't practised enough to get the hang of it. Reuben, who was watching her, said, "Camille, when you trip, take a deep breath and begin again."

She skipped again and tripped a couple of more times. But she followed Reuben's advice to heart and soon found herself, remaining calm and focused. By the time the clock hit the last 3-minute mark, she was out of breath and sweating despite the gentle night breeze circulating around the warehouse.

"Camille, put on your hand wraps. I'd like to evaluate your stance and punch before we get to the nitty gritty of everything," instructed Reuben.

She nodded and went to her locker to get her hand wraps. She took a little sip of water and toweled sweat off her face. She proceeded to wrap her hands for her next workout.

Reuben inspected her handiwork and proceeded to outfit a pair of boxing gloves on her hands. "I'm only doing this once. So you better learn how to do this on your own. Got it?" Camille nodded. He put on a pair of target mitts.

"Now, show me the stance you learned during your combat training at the academy," he told her. "I know you didn't wear any gloves, but pretend you're not wearing gloves right now and throw a punch on the left mitt."

Camille went into position and shot a quick right jab on the mitt. "Again. On the right, this time," called out Reuben. Camille did what she was told. "Now give a one-two-three punch combo." Her punches made contact with the mitts, fast as rockets but they lack power, observed Reuben.

He surmised that Camille was agile despite her petite frame and lack of strength but she would definitely need proper technique to counter and defend effectively."Alright, first off your stance: You're standing with one foot way in front of the other, which makes you susceptible to being off-balance and weakens your punch. So right foot forward, left foot back. Not all the way that your body is turned sideways. Make sure your hips and shoulders are facing straight. Bend your knees a little and tuck in your elbows to your side. Keep your chin down. Put your right hand up to protect your right cheek, left hand to protect your chin," Reuben explained in rapid succession as he expertly maneuvered Camille into position.

They both proceeded to practice punches while Reuben shouted corrections and instructions. "Pivot your heel. Perfect. Punch straight and don't let your elbow roll. Do it once more. Good!"

They did six rounds of this workout with a minute break every two rounds. Camille knew the program would be intense but she wasn't prepared for the first day's grueling session. Still, adrenaline course through her and she felt happy at having accomplished something. Reuben was a tough, no-nonsense trainer and she liked the way he trained people—straightforward and honest. 'I would really learn a lot from him,' she thought as she did her cool down exercises.

She changed into a dry shirt and a pair of shorts, gathered her things from the locker and started heading out. Reuben walked with her to the entrance. "How are you feeling? Is it a nice workout?"

"Yes, it was. It's pretty intense but I quite like it," Camille told him honestly.

"Good. We'll work on your techniques some more. You still have much to learn. So I'll see you Saturday," said Reuben.

Camille nodded and thanked him. It looked like the day had ended nicely for her despite what happened with Richard. As she started her motorbike, she contemplated on her next plan for the evening. "I guess I'll just eat dinner at maman's before I head to my apartment. I have a feeling I'm going to be sore tomorrow."

Meanwhile back at La Kaz, Dwayne, Fidel and Richard were having an after-work drink. Well, Dwayne and Fidel were drinking beers while Richard was having his usual cup of tea. It wasn't really a planned outing, Dwayne just happened to mention that he was going to La Kaz for a short drink after they closed up and Fidel mentioned that he wanted to come along if it wasn't going to be a long one. The conversation was within earshot of Richard, so naturally they invited him as well not really expecting him to say yes. But to their surprise, their boss agreed rather quickly and without qualms.

So it was that Camille found them as she stepped into her mother's bar, hoping to get a quick dinner before going back to her apartment. For a few seconds, she felt cross at being left out but then forgave them right away. How could they invite her when they knew she had other plans? But what made her heart clenched was seeing Richard with them.

So he was willing to go with the boys if they invited him but not her, who practically had to jump through hoops and bend over backwards to 'convince' him to go with them. She caught herself and shook her head to banish the onset of bitterness in her thoughts. She told herself she won't be affected by his actions anymore. But it didn't mean she couldn't have her fun with them, right? She took a breath and strode to the table where the men were seated.

Richard saw her coming first, his eyes growing wide in surprise. He didn't think she would actually show up at her mother's bar after going to the gym. When he agreed to go with Dwayne and Fidel for a short drink, a part of him was secretly hoping Camille would show up at La Kaz. He didn't know where the feeling came from but it simply felt alien to him not having her around or even near him. But then, another part of him, the stubborn, repressed, confused part, hoped she wouldn't show up.

The day between them became a mess and he couldn't pinpoint where it all fell apart. He may not be adept at discerning other people's feelings or emotions, but with Camille, he became a bit more observant. And he was at a loss on how to fix whatever it was that got broken. Their friendship? Their closeness? Or whatever the hell they had? He knew he needed more time to process the whole thing before he could face her again. But it was too late for that now. Here she was, walking toward them with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised and mouth in a tight line. He braced himself for her tirade.

"So that's how it is, huh?" she said out loud to Dwayne. "Going out for drinks without inviting me? I see how it is. You don't want my company."

"Oi, Camille, this is unplanned, a spontaneous thing," Dwayne said defensively. "It's not like we conspired to leave you out. Right, Fidel?"

"Yes, Camille. Dwayne just mentioned he was going for a drink at La Kaz and I wanted to join him," explained Fidel quickly. "The Chief was there so we decided to invite him, too, and he said he also wanted to come along. Right, sir?"

"Um, yes. That's how it happened. You know how these things are, they tend to be spontaneous. It's not like we didn't want to let you come or anything," said Richard. "You were at the gym and we figured you might be too tired to come out, you know."

Camille gave him a curt nod in acknowledgement but turned her attention to Dwayne again. "So you did it! Congratulations. See, your first casual attempt and it worked. I now officially pass the baton to you."

"Hey, hey, I told you it wasn't meant to be that way," Dwayne said, shaking his head but he managed to smile when he saw Camille's teasing eyes and smile. "And THIS doesn't count. So how was your workout? Was it tough?"

Camille gave a groan. "Yes, it was."

"I told you Reuben is a tough trainer. He's going to work you to the bone until you get it right. He's a slave driver, that one. But mind you, he's very, VERY good at what he does."

"Yes, he is pretty strict and straight to the point. He will tell you bluntly where you are doing wrong and give you the correct way of doing it right there and then," Camille agreed. "But I like his teaching style. I feel I could learn a lot from him."

"Since you're here, why don't you join us and tell us all about it?" suggested Fidel.

"Nah, you guys wouldn't like me around when I'm this sweaty and smelly. I just want to grab a quick bite to eat and I'm heading home after," said Camille. "Besides, I wouldn't want to interfere with your boys-only night out."

"Oh come on, Camille. Just one drink. It's not like we're going to be here all night. We still have work tomorrow. Right, Chief?" said Dwayne as he shot a glance at Richard, who was looking like a fish out of water.

Truth be told, Richard was actually feeling left out all of a sudden as he watched the easy banter between Dwayne and Camille. It was getting like that between him and Camille before although he was always the unwilling participant. But she managed to rope him in with her patient and underhanded ways and he soon found himself unwittingly enjoying it. Now he felt awkward just watching and listening to them.

He didn't think it polite to join in and it seemed that they were inside their own bubble, that they shared a private joke he wasn't privy to. The familiar sinking feeling came back and he shuffled on his seat uncomfortably. Had he lost that kind of relationship with Camille, he wondered. He could hear Fidel and Dwayne trying to persuade her to join them. He contemplated calling it an early night and leaving.

"Is it alright, sir, to join you?" Camille asked, suddenly pulling him out of his introspection. She was looking at him expectantly, a small inscrutable smile gracing her face.

"Of…of course," Richard said, almost stuttering as he nodded and put on his mask. "By all means."

She just nodded and turned to her two colleagues. "I'm going to eat first and then I'll join you guys for just one beer."

Dwayne and Fidel let out a playful cheer to mock her. She, in turn, rolled her eyes at them in exaggerated mirth. She sauntered toward the bar to say hello to her mother. Richard eyed her discreetly. He wasn't used to Camille not riling him up or not rolling her eyes at him. But he dismissed the thought entirely. Perhaps, she was just too tired from her workout to engage him into an argument.

Camille kissed her maman in greeting and asked for her favorite meal as she sat by the bar to wait. Things went well between her and Richard, she thought. She tried to be casual in his presence and hoped he hadn't detected anything different from the way she usually treated him. She was able to mull things over during her ride back to La Kaz and realised that she was acting too differently with him all of a sudden. Perhaps, this was the reason why they both feel awkward around each other now. She would make an effort to ease up a little and be the 'normal' Camille that he was used to.

But as soon as the thought came, she berated herself. 'Camille, here you go again making concession for that man. You're just trying too hard and over thinking things!' she reminded herself. She massaged her temple. She had thought that the intensity of her workout would have push all thoughts of him outside her head. But it looked like she needed to workout harder, maybe to the point of exhaustion. If only she could ground these feelings for him into a pulp and let the wind blow it away for good. But she realized simply letting go was even harder to do.

"You look tired, Cami? Was the workout really that difficult?" said Catherine as she placed a plate of food in front of Camille.

"Yes, maman. It's like I'm back in the academy again," answered Camille as she ate her favorite meal.

"I don't know why you have to choose to learn boxing when there are other mild workouts out there like zumba, pilates or even yoga," said Catherine disapprovingly. "And you already know self-defence."

"Maman, we've talked about this. I want an intense workout. I've been sitting behind a desk for far too long. I'm getting a little flabby," admonished Camille.

"Flabby? You never get flabby. Oh are you thinking of going back to undercover work again?" Catherine couldn't help herself from asking. She had a suspicion that her daughter was getting restless, she just couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"No maman," Camille reassured her. "With budget cuts and austerity measures, I doubt I will find any open positions anywhere."

"Would you take it if there's one?" Catherine persisted.

"Maman," she said in a tone that showed she was already getting tired of the subject. "I have a job here that I enjoy. I wouldn't even consider it," she stated as she shove spoonfuls of her food into her mouth. After some thoughtful chewing, she said teasingly, "Unless of course, I was offered one with good pay and it's based in Paris."

"Camille!" This time, it was Catherine's turn to chastised her daughter. She knew that she was only teasing. But if her daughter found a better job opportunity elsewhere, Catherine won't stop her. Camille's life was solely up to Camille and all she could do, as her mother, was to support her wholeheartedly. Anyway, that discussion could be done in another time, so she decided to change the subject.

"Richard came out for after work drinks tonight," she remarked as she glanced at the men sitting in the far corner table.

Camille did a long-suffering sigh. "It looks like it. Dwayne said it was totally unplanned and I had the feeling that he didn't think Richard would go when they asked him."

"Oh good. That means he's trying to be spontaneous, right?"

"Could be. I'll join them for one beer and then I'm going home. I'm totally beat and I'm beginning to feel my muscles getting sore." She massaged her shoulder vigorously.

Catherine just shook her head. "I can't understand why you chose a workout that cause you pain instead of making you feel relaxed and rejuvenated."

"Because it's fun," said Camille cheekily as she took out a beer from the fridge. She walked to the table where her colleagues were having their drinks. For a minute, she debated on whether she should sit by Dwayne and Fidel or not, but quickly decided against it. It would look like she was avoiding Richard. So she decided to pull a seat and placed it on his side of the table.

"So how goes the boys-only night out?" she teased, looking at no one in particular.

Dwayne rolled his eyes and decided it would be best to engage her in conversation. "I was telling them about your very sweet motorbike, the 150-cc Mustang Pony. They don't make them anymore. The last production of that model was in 1965, so I was surprised you had it."

"Well, I wanted a used car after I graduated from high school. I mean, I didn't want to always ask favors from friends who had rides. So I figured owning a car would make sense. But maman discouraged me from it. She said that if I go to university I won't be able to take it with me, what with tax duties and other fees. So I thought, I would just get a mountain bike or a secondhand scooter. But then, she surprised me with that motorbike," Camille related.

Richard stopped himself from saying something like: "Well I don't understand why Catherine got you a motorbike instead. It would be much safer to be inside a car that to be on a two-wheeled coffin in motorway traffic." But for the first time in his adult life, he willed himself to think before he quipped anything tongue-in-cheek. Given what had happened between him and Camille earlier that day, his well-meaning comment might get misconstrued. And he was sure that would ruin everyone's evening. So he just nodded and sipped his tea.

"So where did she get it? I mean, there's not a lot of motorbike dealers in Saint Marie. Um, except for Dwayne's…um…contacts," Fidel said as he stole a quick look at Dwayne.

"Hey! My contacts are not…too illegal," he said, giving his colleagues sideway glances.

Everyone eyed him with eyebrows raised. Then Richard spoke up, "There's no such thing as not too illegal, Dwayne. It's either legal or illegal."

"I know that, Chief. Don't worry, my contacts are legal. I'd be the first one to know if they weren't," said Dwayne reassuringly.

Camille and Fidel just sniggered.

"So where did Catherine get a vintage motorbike like that huh?" This time Dwayne was aiming for a payback.

"I think she said she got it from a guy in Miami and had it shipped here," said Camille nonchalantly. "Or was it Cuba?" This time, it was her turn to be given the look. "Hey, it's perfectly legal. I've got the papers to prove it."

"Can I see it? Not the papers, the motorbike, I mean," asked Fidel. "I've always wanted to learn how to ride one. Maybe I could borrow yours and practise."

"Oi, don't even try it. You're too tall for that bike, you'll look like a clown," warned Dwayne. "Plus, it's a vintage piece of machinery that's no longer being made. If you wreck it, how will you replace it?"

"Dwayne!" reprimanded Camille as she gave the older police officer a sharp look of disapproval.

"What I meant was, don't practise on a rare motorbike like Camille's. I'll get you one that won't be too expensive to fix while you try to learn riding it," Dwayne told Fidel, clearly realising his harsh words earlier. "But if you get hurt, I won't answer to Juliet or to your insurance company, alright?"

Fidel shook his head and just gave him a grin. "If you really want to learn, don't worry Dwayne and I will teach you," added Camille. "Right, Dwayne?"

Dwayne looked at them both open-mouthed as if he was going to say something but decided not to proceed. He just nodded in agreement as he took a swig of his beer. 

"Do you want to see it?" Camille asked Fidel. "It's parked outside. I'll show it to you."

Both of them stood up and went out while Dwayne and Richard stayed behind. "Don't you want to have a look at it, too, Chief?" Dwayne asked.

"No, I'm good. Once you've seen one, you've seen them all," Richard shrugged.

"You're kidding, right? It's not just any ordinary motorbike. This model had so much history in it. The very first one was designed with a 315 cc water-cooled, four-cylinder engine in the 1930s. Then its prototypes had pre-war Villiers engines," explained Dwayne.

Richard was astonished by Dwayne's knowledge of motorbikes. He didn't think he was passionate about anything other than women and night outs. But here he was talking rather animatedly about his other passion, which was quite a revelation to Richard. He resisted the urge to smile in amusement as he slowly sipped his tea.

On the other hand, Dwayne realized that his Chief of Police may not get what he was talking about and just did a dismissive gesture with his hand. He thought the Inspector may be brilliant in solving crimes but when it came to things that matter, he was completely out of touch. He drank his beer to keep himself from saying anything more about motorbikes.

"Where are Camille and Fidel?" asked Catherine as she approached their table.

"They are outside looking at Camille's motorbike," Richard replied helpfully as he put down his teacup.

"So where did you get that vintage motorbike, Catherine? It's a rare one," asked Dwayne with a sly look on his face.

"I know a guy from Miami who got it from California. I bought it from him and he shipped it here in time for Camille's high school graduation," answered Catherine. When the two men remained silent, she was forced to quip indignantly, "It's perfectly legal. I have the papers to prove it!"

Just then, Camille and Fidel came in, talking as they walked to the table. "It looks cool," said Fidel. "Dwayne was right, though, it's too small for me."

"I told you it's quite something eh?" said Dwayne.

"Well, I think I better go," said Camille, not going back to her seat. "I'm really tired and sore."

"It's going to be like that for the next couple of sessions, Camille," Dwayne told her, smirking. "But the good news is, once you get the hang of it and the movements are in your muscle memory, you'll feel much better."

"I hope so, Dwayne. Right now, my arms feel like lead and my neck and shoulders are tingling," grimaced Camille as she rolled her shoulders.

"Take a nice, warm bath. It will ease the pain somehow. Tomorrow, I'll give you something that's guaranteed to make those muscles feel better," smiled Dwayne as he gave her a wink.

Catherine handed Camille her backpack and helmet. "Thanks, maman. I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she gave her mother a kiss. She turned and caught Richard looking at her. "Sir, are you sure you'll be alright driving home?"

"Of course, Camille. It's not like the tea I was drinking made me tipsy or anything," Richard groused a little, hoping to engage Camille into a little bickering or something that would prove whatever happened between them didn't happen at all. He waited for her usual acerbic response. But Camille didn't say a word, she just nodded her head and smiled. It was the same smile she gave him when they got back from the burglary case earlier. He was forced to give her a brief smile back amidst his disappointment.

"Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow," she said as she turned her attention to both Fidel and Dwayne. Her two colleagues nodded in agreement and said their goodbyes. She walked out without looking back.

Richard eyed her leaving. He was beginning to think that this was going to be his new normal—him always watching her leave. Of course, the logical part of him had already come up with the likely reasons why he should think nothing of it.

His brain reassured him everything was fine. It was only normal that Camille would leave for the evening, she was tired from her workout at the gym. It was only normal that Camille would go out to lunch earlier, she was hungry and maybe wanted to try a new cafe somewhere. It was only normal that Camille would have a serious and professional demeanour toward him, that was expected between a superior and a subordinate. Lastly, it was only normal that Camille would call him 'Sir' all the time, as she said she respected him.

Still, another part of him, his heart, was gradually realising something he was afraid to admit. Maybe he had finally pushed her away, so far away that she had decided not to get close anymore. He didn't know why the thought weighed heavily on his mind especially when it was perfectly normal that they only maintain a professional working relationship. It was what was proper, after all. And yet, why did it feel like it was such an overwhelming loss? He involuntarily massaged his temple to calm down.

"I think, I better call it a night," he declared to his two police officers. "Thanks, Dwayne and Fidel. I'll see you both bright and early tomorrow."

He fished a couple of bills out of his pocket and told them the drinks were on him and left without another word. 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just a quick note to say I'm still reading Richard and Camille fanfics on here. I'm just real-life busy. So thank you, Gilda, for updating your stories. They are wonderful. I'm always excited to read your new chapters!
> 
> Anyway, I've been trying to plough through my two other fanfics on here, but I've been hitting one brick wall after another. :-( And it's making me existentially unhappy. When will the right words come out? Why can't I continue with this plot? What am I doing here? Dammitall!╰| ⁰ ෴ ⁰ |╯ 
> 
> I need to jumpstart this lazy writing brain of mine. I think it may require some serious defibrillation. It has been idle for far too long. 
> 
> All right. That's that. I hope you'll enjoy reading this new chapter. Thank you for your feedback and kudos. They are always appreciated.

* * *

 

Camille’s phone alarm went off with a gentle yet insistent chiming. She reached out a hand to silence it but the effort made her groan involuntarily. “Merde!” She muttered softly under her breath as a tight pain radiating from the center of her spine crept up to her outstretched arm.

She tapped her phone with great effort and proceeded to prop herself up on the bed. She stretched her upper body, thinking the pain was only brought on by the way she slept last night. But she was wrong. She felt an immediate searing pain on her shoulders, pulsing through her back and going outward to her outstretched arms. She bit her lower lip to endure the sudden twinge of her muscles.

“Ugh, it’s worse than I thought,” she said to herself as she massaged the back of her neck and carefully turn her head from side to side. It helped a little. She gritted her teeth as she got out of bed. It seemed like all the pain were concentrated on her upper body and her arms felt heavy and numb.

Looked like she wasn’t going to go for a run today. She willed her body to move and tried a few gentle stretches. Despite being early morning, she was already sweating from the heat, humidity and the discomfort that her body was experiencing. The stretches helped loosen her joints and muscles. Now she needed some coffee.

She contemplated on calling in sick for work but she was sure Dwayne and Fidel would tease her about the real reason she was absent when she gets back to work. She hated being viewed as weak. “Tsk. It can’t be helped. I’ll have to endure it. I'll take painkiller meds when it becomes really necessary,” she thought.

As she stepped into her bathroom, she hoped a quick cold shower wouldn’t make matters worse. She willed herself to think of something else besides the pain in her muscles. And usually this would be about her boss. She sighed. Why were her thoughts always go back to HIM?

Anyway, was he trying to engage her in a friendly banter last night with that tea comment? She remembered her reaction was a bit forced and not typical of the Camille he was used to. She let out a breath, she knew she was acting too different with him. So today she would try to act ‘normal’ around him as much as possible.

She turned off the water and toweled herself dry. She felt refreshed but more importantly, her muscles were not screaming in so much pain anymore. “I guess, I won’t need the painkiller meds.”

She looked at the time and thought she was late. But then, she backtracked and realised Richard had the Defender and she didn’t need to pick him up. A small wave of relief washed over her. She was only too glad she didn’t have to face him so early in the morning.

Given that her sore muscles were bothering her, she wasn’t in the mood for any of his grumpy attitude. She might get totally irritated with him and fall back to the usual bickering they always do. She wanted to avoid any confrontation with him so they could work in a professional manner.

Perhaps, it would be good to transfer the responsibility of picking him up every morning to Fidel, she thought. But she would hate to give him the job since he was a husband with a young family. She didn’t want to take more of his time away from them when police work already asks so much of it from him.

Then again, she couldn’t possibly give it to Dwayne even if she could strong arm him into doing it. As much as she respected the old officer’s street smarts, she doubted his reliability in doing such a job, especially when his date nights always give him terrible hangovers even during the work week.

Oh she could just see steam coming out of Richard’s head and ears if Dwayne failed to pick him up on time every morning. No, that would definitely be detrimental to the whole team and their working environment. She could picture her boss throwing a temper tantrum every time. Yes, not good at all.

Well, it didn’t have to be done right away. She could probably work on easing the responsibility to Fidel instead of abruptly handing him the job. This way, Richard could get used to the change without being shocked or suspicious. Besides, it wasn’t everyday that she had to pick him up and drive him back to his place anyway. So a little change wouldn’t bother his routine that much.

She recalled that she took it upon herself to do the ‘job’ at the time because she wanted to get close to him and spend more time with him outside of work. She laughed at herself and at the ridiculousness of such deceptive tactics. She couldn’t believe that was what she sneakily did when she had strong feelings for him.

But not anymore. For once, she saw things clearly and came to a decision. She knew giving up being in love with him cold turkey would be difficult, but she could work on slowly shedding them off little by little. She needed to put up a wall between them, something to limit her interaction with him. She hoped, in time, she would adjust to treating him as just her colleague and nothing more.

She looked at herself in the mirror and breathed out slowly. The throbbing on her muscles were back and it was making itself known in the most annoying and excruciating way. She rummaged through her drawers and took out a pack of over-the-counter painkiller meds. She stuffed it in her bag. She would take them when she couldn’t withstand the stupid pain anymore.

Now if only there was a medicine for the secret pain in her heart called Richard Poole, she thought absentmindedly as she head out the door.

\----------------

Richard woke up quite early despite having a restless night. He felt unsettled after coming home from La Kaz last night and so he began to analyse what happened between him and Camille. He knew for certain that it wasn’t an ordinary spat or a misunderstanding between them. They both usually bounced back from those kinds of things and would normally go back to the way they were on the same day.

But this time, there was something different going on. It was so subtle that people they know won’t be able to tell that something shifted in their relationship. But he knew and felt it despite his own cluelessness at gauging other people’s feelings.

Having worked closely with Camille for more than two years, he could at least pick up on her moods and emotions. Not as good as her ability but he thought he could do a little of it when it comes to her.

He realised she didn’t like that bit about him wanting to be called Chief. He didn’t see any problem with it. He’d like to think he was angling for a term of respectable endearment among his team members. But the truth was, he wanted to be acknowledged properly. And Camille should abide by that, he thought stubbornly.

He sighed as he adjusted his tie. He supposed that was too much to ask from her, given that she was French and a maverick at that. But really, must she distance herself from him like he was the very personification of the black plague, he thought unhappily. He did agree with her calling him ‘sir’ but even that felt impersonal and aloof every time she said it.

He tsked and irritatedly undid his tie. Why was he bothered by the whole thing anyway? It wasn’t him who started this mess in the first place. What was he worrying about? It didn’t matter to him if a subordinate acted that way. He was used to it. Back in Croydon, all his colleagues acted distant and uncaring toward him.

So what? He didn’t care either. He did his job and he did them well. If they didn’t acknowledge what he did and his detective skills, his rank would force them to begrudgingly give it to him. That was how it worked. And that was enough for him. He redid his tie carefully as a thought ran through his head: But how come he was feeling lousy about what happened between him and Camille?

Harry skittered up a bookshelf and look down at him, unblinking. “I know what you’re thinking, that she has become more than a colleague now. That in the more than two years we’ve worked together, bickered, bantered, talked over cold beers, that we’ve become friends. Is that it?”

The little green lizard just cocked its head and ran up the wall in search of food. He took off his tie again in frustration. If they were friends, why was she treating him this badly? Sure, he was stubborn and pedantic and may have been too annoying at times but she always forgave him. Hadn’t she?

Something kept resurfacing from the very depths of his heart that he kept tamping down. His own stubbornness and pride stopped him from acknowledging it because the very thought brought him unbridled sadness and regret. So he didn’t want to listen to it or make it known.

If he gave in, then he would find himself only to blame. That he had pushed away the only person who genuinely wanted to be friends with him. The woman who had become special to him. Not that he would ever admit it. No, he didn’t want to recognize this feeling of loss. They were colleagues and superior-subordinate at that. That was the extent of their relationship. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He redid his tie expertly. ‘As long as we are both professionals at work, these feelings or whatever they are don’t matter. At the end of the day, we just needed to do our jobs and do them well,’ he thought, putting up his wall and fortifying it.

He looked at his wristwatch. She was late. She should have been here by now. He readied himself for his usual grousing at her lateness. He would act normal around her, grumbling and grumpy at everything. He would try to ignore how she acted around him. It wasn’t part of his job to figure that out. Perhaps in time, she would get tired of it and go back to their old routine and relationship.

He stepped out into his veranda and breathed in the ocean air. The first sign that the day would be sweltering made its presence known via the already brightly shining sun. He looked around and caught a glimpse of the Defender parked on the side of his shack.

“Damn it!” He completely forgot he had the police vehicle. So Camille won’t be picking him up today. He sighed dejectedly, his wall crumbling a little. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t see her face first thing in the morning like he used to. But of course, he wouldn’t admit that, even to himself. No, never.

He trudged on the sand and got on the Defender. Well, he would see her soon enough.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an observation that in most of the fanfiction stories (specifically of Richard Poole/Camille Bordey relationship) on here, Richard Poole has become way more introspective and communicative than his TV persona. Now, it's a valid observation and I'm one of the guilty parties who tends to do it in my own fics. 
> 
> The thing is, any fanfiction story can never really depict what the actual Richard Poole is in Robert Thorogood's head, we're not the series creator after all. It would be folly to even attempt a 'canon' rendering of Richard Poole because only Thorogood can do this job the best. Nevertheless, we, fanfic writers, exert a conscious effort to stick to the fundamental/basic traits of Richard Poole in our stories. But at the same time, we task ourselves to creatively push these basics to its limits. That, for me, is where the fun begins. (Oh the myriads of possibilities my fangirl imagination can conjure for Richard and Camille. They're endless. If only I'm not that lazy. HAHAHA....er, right, back on topic.)
> 
> And part of that fun, as Gilda aptly pointed out, is not to produce a direct clone of Thorogood's Richard Poole but to come up or present another possible Richard Poole for ourselves and for fellow fans who enjoy reading about Richard Poole and Camille Bordey's relationship. We really don't mind if our fanfics make Richard Poole a bit sociable and outwardly demonstrative (to a point) and even not conform to anyone or Thorogood's expectation (gasp!), as long as we can put him in a lovey-dovey scenario with Camille, we are most happy. :-)
> 
> Now on with the new chapter...HOOHAH!

* * *

 Camille parked her small motorbike beside the Enfield. She usually walked to the police station from her place but decided she would ride her bike to work. Her reason: it would get her used to riding it again AND keep her from having to drive her boss back to his beach shack today.

Being that it was the end of the work week, the team would typically go out for drinks at La Kaz after hours. They didn’t always do it, especially when the week was slow and there was no solved murder case to celebrate. But it had become their custom to go out together.

There was no written rule or anything, but it seemed she had become Richard’s designated driver after the whole thing, even if he didn’t drink a drop of alcohol. She didn’t mind really as it would give her additional time to be with him and get to know him better.

As per usual, he would offer her a cold beer or two and they would just hang out in his verandah, talking. Sometimes, it would be about a recent case as Richard liked to go through everything again, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss anything even when the case was already closed.

On rare occasions, he would share a personal story or two with her, which pleased her immensely. It meant that he was beginning to trust her enough to share these things with her. She thought she was finally getting through to him.

He didn’t talk about his personal life that much. But during one of these nights, he would open up to her. Not a lot, but just enough to give her a glimpse of the person he really is. At the time, she treated his personal revelation with reverence like something entrusted to her for safekeeping.

The night of the hurricane was one example. Back then, he freely shared his feeling about his father with her. Perhaps because the case of the murdered young meteorologist who loved his father had hit close to home and touched something deeper that even his detached self couldn’t protect him from. He looked desperately human and she loved him for it.

She sighed heavily. She would miss those nights. She really didn’t think it would be possible to miss someone so badly when she sees him everyday. Yet here it was, she was missing him.

But having worked closely with him for more than two years, the reality that he was still so far away from her was a hard pill to swallow. When she thought she had succeeded in breaking a little bit of his barrier, he would resolutely close himself off in return. At one point, he would welcome her and at another, he would shut her out. All without being aware of how much it was hurting her.

Was he completely dense at how people feel? Or was he just used to taking people for granted? She didn't expect a 'thank-you' in every thing she did for him, she knew he was a reserved person. But she wished he wasn't so adamant in shutting people out. The truth was, she wanted to continue, to push more but she couldn't deny the reality any longer. She had better let go before the illusion of wanting more from him completely drowns her.

She put her game face on, secretly glad that her boss hadn’t arrived yet and walked up the steps.

The friendly, smiling faces of Dwayne and Fidel greeted her right away. She smiled at them warmly in return, trying hard to hide the fact that her aching arms and shoulders were throbbing incessantly.

She didn’t see Dwayne come up to her and grabbed her left shoulder and squeezed it affectionately hard in greeting: “How are you doing, Camille?”

“Owww!” She shouted as the instant pain from her shoulder made her instinctively lash out to Dwayne with a jab from her right fist before she could stop it.

Luckily, Dwayne had quick reflexes and blocked her lightning fast punch. “Whoa! Take it easy! I was just asking how you’re doing,” he said incredulously. But his twinkling eyes betrayed him. “I see you’re still sore eh?”

Camille glared at him. “You think? Seriously, why must you squeeze my shoulder that hard? You could have just asked me without doing that!”

“Sorry, sorry,” replied Dwayne, trying to placate her and contain his mirth at the same time. Fidel just shook his head at the old officer’s mischievous ways while Camille sat down on her chair with a groan. “I didn‘t mean to add to your pain. Remember what I said last night, the first few sessions will be grueling to your muscles. So I take it the warm bath didn’t help?”

“It did. I was able to sleep really good after it. But when I woke up this morning, the pain was back a hundredfold. My arms feel like lead and my shoulders are killing me,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Have you taken a painkiller med?” asked Fidel, looking at her with concern. She shook her head: “I don’t need it. It’s just a little bit of discomfort. The pain is not THAT unbearable yet.”

“Still, you don’t need to suffer through it,” Dwayne told her. “Hold on a minute. I got you something that would help.” He went to his desk and searched through several of his drawers. “Now where did that thing go? I could have sworn I put it in here somewhere,” he muttered as Camille rolled her eyes and Fidel laughed. “Aha! Found it!”

He went back to Camille’s desk, holding out a colorful, hexagonal box with Asian characters and a drawing of a tiger on it.

“Tiger Balm Red Extra Strength?” Camille read, clearly unfamiliar with the product.

“A lot of professional boxers swear by this, Camille,” Dwayne reassured her. “I’ve used it so many times during my days training at Reuben’s gym. It will definitely nuke the pain off your sore muscles, I tell you. Go on, try it!”

Camille looked at him dubiously. “Dwayne, it sounds like this would burn my skin and muscles off.”

“That’s just an expression. I don’t mean it like it’s going to be hot coals on your skin. It’s perfectly safe and effective. Even old people swear by it,” he replied, a little put out by Camille’s hesitation.

“Dwayne’s right, Camille. It’s safe to use. My 85-year-old grandmother uses it,” Fidel told her. “It has been giving her relief from her arthritis and joint pains for years now. It’s just that...”

“...we cannot stand seeing you in pain, that’s all,” Dwayne interjected quickly, cutting off what Fidel was going to say. He gave the young man a conspiratorial nod to tell him to let Camille decide for herself. “So would you rather endure the pain all day? Take painkiller meds for it? Or try this ointment? Your choice.”

Camille loathed to take a painkiller as it would make her lightheaded and drowsy all day. She needed to be alert and focused to do her job. No, painkillers were out of the question. Not until she had clocked out and was already at home.

She took the box off Dwayne’s hands and opened it. “I guess, there’s no harm in trying. I hope it’s as good as you make it out to be.”

She opened the jar and immediately the strong smell of menthol, camphor and clove went up her nose. “The scent is a bit intense. Do you guys think this would make me smell...” she hesitated, quite unsure if she wanted to say it but ploughed on just the same. “...um, like old people?”

Both Dwayne and Fidel looked at each other in amusement. “Nonsense. Men like me use it and I’m not THAT old. Oi! Don’t you two dare say anything,” he warned as he gave them a look. “The smell is overwhelming at first. But it goes away once it’s absorbed in your skin. Here let me help you put it on.”

He grabbed the jar off her hand. “Where do you feel the pain? Show me.”

“From the center of my spine coming out to the clavicle and down to these joints here,” Camille said, gesturing down her shoulders as she spoke.

“I see,” said Dwayne. He took out a pea-sized ointment and placed it on the palm of his hand. He took a deep breath, clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. “Now close your eyes.”

“Why?” asked Camille apprehensively as she heard Fidel sniggering in the background.

“Just close them,” Dwayne insisted. She continued to look at him with wary eyes. “Go on.” He said with an encouraging smile. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Now Camille trusted Dwayne with her life. She had no doubt he would always have her back when it came to life and death situations. But he could be a jokester sometimes and do embarrassing things that poke fun at the unsuspecting recipient.

Nonetheless, she did what she was told and turned her back to him. Suddenly, she felt the oddest sensation: tingly at first then cold and hot at the same time. That, along with Dwayne’s expert kneading of her sore muscles had brought instant relief. She smiled in appreciation.

She felt her muscles relaxed for the first time that morning. The tight feeling loosened along with the soreness. Thanks to Dwayne’s ointment and massage combo. But it wasn’t only the physical pain that eased, the unseen tension and feeling of despondency she had been carrying unraveled. She willed the tears to hold.

“After this...show me...sand...the...floor...okay?” commanded Dwayne, talking in a gruff voice and halting English. But he couldn’t stop himself from snickering quietly behind Camille’s back as he applied even pressure on her shoulders. Meanwhile, Fidel had his hand on his mouth, trying hard not to give Dwayne away.

Camille blinked her eyes, surprised at Dwayne’s poor attempt at impersonation. He meant well but sometimes he could be incorrigible. For his age. “Yes, Mr. Miyagi,” she deadpanned. “Now, keep doing what you’re doing!” But this only broke the dam of their self-control and they all burst out laughing.

She wiped the tears off her eyes. She hadn’t had a good, hearty laugh like that in a while. She breathed out slowly, allowing the calmness and acceptance wash over her, thankful that her sore muscles were feeling a little better and her heavy heart a little bit lighter.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall 'wax off' for now...I'll see you in the next chapter! ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Richard parked the Defender at its usual spot in front of the station. He noticed that Camille’s little motorbike was beside the Enfield and felt a lurch in his stomach. He felt nervous all of a sudden. But he bottled it all up deep inside him just as quickly as it came.

He let out a breath. He was a few minutes late. Not that it mattered on this island, where everything was slow and laid back. But he hated being late. It meant that his carefully built routine had gone awry. It meant something or someone had ripped through his perfectly organized day and brought chaos into it. Or rather, he had allowed a certain someone to affect his day that much.

“Bollocks!” He muttered to himself. He swore he wouldn’t think about what happened or about her before he drove out to the station but here he was thinking about her and their current situation. Sometimes, he wished he was a machine that had no bothersome feelings.

Unfortunately, he was only human. Human? He remembered Camille mentioning that she liked him being human. What did she mean? Did she really want to see the rawness of his vulnerabilities and failures? For in truth, he was very human and really insecure on the inside. If she didn’t like him now, she probably wouldn’t like his real self that much.

It was because emotions affected him more than any other person. He learned early on that showing emotions got him ridiculed and rejected. It hurt so badly that he created a detached and arrogant persona to protect him. But then she came along and downright rattled this persona, infuriated it, challenged it like it was the most normal thing to do.

He knew she had seen right through the facade, caught a glimpse of the real him, safely cocooned inside the interior of the pedantic and annoying misanthrope. But she didn’t mock or judge him for it. Instead, she gently convinced him to show her his true self. And he did, in a roundabout and cautious way.

Those nights in his shack just talking with her brought him out little by little. He silently enjoyed them and her company more than he cared to admit. To his discomfit and confusion, he found he shared things with her that he would never tell anyone. When he realised this, he would reel himself back in and made every effort to keep her out to the point of being rude and unfeeling toward her.

He squinted at the sky to let the sun beat down on his face for a few seconds. The heat brought him back to reality. “Right. Now is not the time for such sentimentality,” he told himself. “There’s much work to be done.” So he started up the steps to the station.

He could hear their laughter down the steps and wondered what brought it on. He felt a pang of envy at not being a part of it, whatever it was. He could clearly hear their banter and one voice in particular made him smile in spite of himself.

“Dwayne, that’s the worst Mr. Miyagi impersonation ever!” He heard her say in her most distinctive French lilt. Her voice was laced with mirth and laughter. He was surprised at how unguarded and carefree she sounded. Had she always been like this when he wasn’t around?

“Hey! I’ve always wanted to do that, you know,” Dwayne shot back quickly. He could sense the slight indignation and defensiveness in that retort. But at the same time, there was also the familiar playfulness.

“You should have seen him make that healing hands technique, Camille. It was hilarious. He was really channeling Mr. Miyagi with those hands,” Fidel joined in wickedly. “I thought he was going to transform into a Japanese karate master.”

He wasn’t surprise that the young officer would rib Dwayne like that. He had seen how they got on, sometimes they would annoy the hell out of each other but there was always respect amidst their brotherly squabbles.

He lingered on the top stair for a moment or two. He knew that the minute he entered the room, all manner of laughing and playful antics would cease and they would become subdued in his presence. Like the arrival of the much-dreaded, curmudgeonly professor, he thought drily.

But he really would like to know who this Mr. Miyagi was and why his team found him so funny. So he walked in casually.

“Who’s Mr. Miyagi?” He asked everyone and no one in particular. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. He could see Fidel and Camille with small smiles on their faces but they were clearly avoiding his gaze. Dwayne was nowhere in sight.

“It’s just a fictional character from an 80s movie, sir,” Fidel answered helpfully.

“Oh,” he said, suddenly feeling completely left out as he wasn’t familiar with any pop culture reference whatsoever. He pulled his chair and glanced at Camille, who was now busy typing something on her computer. “Good morning, Camille,” he said, keeping his voice official and pleasant.

She looked up briefly at him and nodded, “Morning, sir.” Then went back to what she was doing.

He stopped himself from sighing. It seemed like this was how things were going to be from now on. He guessed he better get used to it as he wrinkled his nose again. ‘What’s that funky smell?’ he thought as he sniffed the air once. He couldn’t identify what the scent was, so this time he inhaled deeply.

The strong smell of clove suddenly assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water and his throat itch. “What the bloody hell is that horrible, nasty smell?” He blurted out, coughing a little. “It smells like there’s a gaggle of septuagenarians having an arthritis convention in here!”

Fidel gave in to a snicker but when he saw his boss looking pointedly at him, he gave him a shamefaced smile. Camille sighed audibly and shook her head: “Um, that would be me, sir.”

Richard shot her a startled look. Did he hear that right? Was this Camille’s new perfume? Had she gone to great lengths to make him stay away from her? She probably wanted to drive him out of the station.

“That smell is the ointment I used to ease my sore muscles, sir,” she quickly clarified as if reading his thoughts. “I’m sorry it stinks to high heavens. I didn’t think it would take quite some time for the smell to wear off since SOMEBODY around here said it would go away after it was absorbed into my skin.” She looked at the direction of the kitchen pantry.

Dwayne stepped out, looking contrite as he dried his hands with a towel. “Ah sorry, Chief. That was the Tiger Balm I gave to Camille earlier. I told her to use it so that she doesn’t have to endure painful muscles and joints all day. You know? From her gym workout yesterday?”

“Oh.” This was the second time he felt left out, which was compounded by the guilt at his sudden outburst. Of course, Camille wasn’t trying to get rid of him or make him stay away. She was hurting and she needed relief. What kind of a boss was he for not recognizing that one of his colleagues was hurting? He had gone on complaining about his own minuscule discomfort.

“Sir, I can go home and take a quick shower to get the smell off. I can also bring an air freshener to use in here,” Camille offered. She stood up and put her bag on her shoulder, ready to leave.

“What?” he said suddenly. “No, that’s all right. I mean, you don’t have to do that, Camille.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answered, looking at her keenly. “I don’t want you to go.”

Camille was taken aback by the way he looked at her, his green eyes piercing and pleading. She furrowed her brows and broke his gaze by nodding absentmindedly without looking at him.

“Well, I don’t want you to put up with the smell. I mean if it bothers you that much...” she said as she slowly sat back down on her chair.

“No, not really. I could just pretend this is a temple and somebody’s burning incense,” he winced, berating himself for saying the wrong things at the wrong time. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s all right. I can endure it. Besides, it will eventually go away. Right, Dwayne?”

“Yes, Chief,” Dwayne called out from his desk. “It’s not really that bad.”

His three colleagues gave him a look. “Oh all right. It smells a little bit strong but this is why you know it works, right?” He looked at Camille, nodding. “In any case, it will keep any unsavoury characters away from you, Camille!”

“Dwayne!” He winced as his senior officers gave him a warning in unison. Fidel nodded his head at him as if to say, 'See, I told you so.' He just shook his head in frustration. It was no use, he couldn’t possibly win if it was two against one. So he pretended he heard nothing and made himself look busy.

‘Am I an unsavoury character to Camille?’ Richard thought haplessly. The smell of the clove got him again and he sneezed loudly.

Camille glanced at him, a bit worried. “I could also work from home today...”

“No need to do that, Detective,” he said airily as he took out his handkerchief and tied it around his face like a bandit. “See, I’ve already devised a workaround for the smell.”

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and bit her inner cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. But it was no use. A small chuckle forced its way out of her. Fidel followed suit as he called Dwayne’s attention to show what their boss had done. The older officer grinned, his mischievous mind whirling again.   

“Chief, you and Camille will make a great pair. Smelly, er, Smokey and the Bandit. Get it? Get it?” he declared, moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx and looking at Richard and then Camille. But she just narrowed her eyes at him, jaws set and mouth in a thin line.

“Dwayne?”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Get back to work!” commanded Richard, his stern voice muffled by the handkerchief on his face. But behind it, he was smiling. He knew he looked ridiculous but at least it made Camille chuckle. ‘I guess, this day won’t be so bad after all,’ he mused.

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiny, new chapter. I know it's progressing rather slowly. This is me being long-winded (again!), apologies. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read it. I'll see you in the next chapter. s( ^ ‿ ^)-b

* * *

Camille hoped that no urgent calls would come up for the rest of the day. The relief that her sore muscles experienced earlier was short lived and given that her boss couldn’t take the smell of Dwayne’s magic ointment, she couldn’t use it again. 

But the pain was getting annoying and not to mention severely distracting. She massaged the back of her neck unconsciously. Enough was enough. She stood up from her desk and went to the fridge to get a cold bottled water and headed to the back door of the station.

She didn’t notice her boss surreptitiously glanced up to look at her, wondering what she was up to. Richard quickly turned his head down when she went to open the fridge. He pretended to read a case file seriously. He assumed she would just go back to her seat again and so he continued his work.

But after a few minutes, he spied she wasn’t at her desk. He felt a bit worried. He did tell her he wanted her to stay. Did she sneak off home just so he wouldn't be affected by the smell of that ointment?

He noticed her shoulder bag was still on her desk. Perhaps she just went to the loo? And why was he worried about his detective sergeant’s whereabouts anyway? He vigorously rubbed his temple, secretly irritated with himself.

Meanwhile, Camille stepped out into the sandy beach and took deep breaths. She remembered in a yoga class she attended back in Paris that breathing through the discomfort of difficult poses helped. Maybe doing another round of light stretching and breathing would do her good.

She gently put her left arm up, bending it at the elbow and pulling it with her right hand. ‘Breathe in the pain, hold. Breathe out the pain, let go,’ she told herself. She did the same thing with her right arm. Next, she crossed her arms, placing her palms together. She inhaled and slowly brought her crossed arms down, tucking her chin in her chest. She exhaled as she brought them back up, arching her back.

She did these poses a couple of times, feeling her sore muscles painfully stretched yet loosening up. She jiggled her arms after several repetitions and took a sip of cold water. That would do for now, she thought.

Richard, on the other hand, was curious as to where Camille was. He took a case folder and made his way to a file cabinet by the back door of the station. He casually looked outside and saw her doing stretches on the beach. She was facing out to sea, her skin seemed to take on the color of bronze as the sun shone on her. He stood there mesmerized, silently gazing at her.

“Sir, phone call from the hotel that got burgled last week,” Fidel called out to him. He turned around in alarm. He nodded as he made his way back to his desk.

“Mmmetective mmmmnspector mmichard mmoole mmpeaking,” he said on the phone, too late to realise he still had the handkerchief over his face. He pulled it down quickly, “Detective Inspector Richard Poole speaking. Yes, please have it ready so we can view it when we arrive. We’ll head down there right now.”

As he put down the receiver, Camille walked in.

“Detective, let’s go. We need to head down to the hotel where we did a preliminary investigation last week. The CCTV footages are available,” he told her, tidying up his desk.

“Um, sir, are you sure you want me to go?” she asked. “I can still smell the remnants of the ointment on me. I’m sure Fidel can drive you there.”

“No, Camille. I need you with me,” he declared as he distractedly gathered his things and placed them inside his leather case. “Besides, you’re my partner in this case. I can’t do this without you.”

Camille stared at him in confusion. What was up with him using these ambiguous statements with double meanings? She wished he would just stop with the awkward sentimentality veiled as a pep talk. It was unnerving her. It wasn’t like this was a tricky murder case. It was just a burglary, she thought slightly annoyed. But she willed herself to be professional about it.

“All right, sir,” she said readily as she grabbed her bag and fell in step after him. When they reached the Defender, she saw he still had his handkerchief on. “Um, sir, you forgot to take off...” she pointed at his neck.

Richard looked at her questioningly. His hand went up to feel his throat and felt the soft cloth. He tugged at it repeatedly but it wouldn’t give. He must have tied the thing too tightly.

“Here, turn around and let me undo it,” Camille offered.

He obediently did what he was told. She deftly untied the handkerchief, taking care not to touch him. “You can pull it off now,” she said as she walked around to the driver’s side to get on the vehicle.

Richard turned around to mumble his thanks but Camille was already inside the Defender, waiting for him. He tucked his handkerchief in his pocket and got on the vehicle without a word.

She was right. The ointment still lingered about her. He resisted the urge to gag, willing his mind to think of the case. But the smell was simply too overwhelming. He opened his side window all the way down to let the breeze in. He shifted a little and stuck his head out, welcoming the refreshing wind as it pass by. It felt good. No wonder dogs liked it.

Camille stole a look at him in amusement. She did warn him that the ointment smell still remained on her. Anyway, he was right. He was working this case with her and it was obvious that she should be by his side. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering why he took this burglary when he usually send Fidel and Dwayne to handle such cases.

She gave him a sideways glance when she heard him sigh contentedly. He was definitely enjoying the breeze but she feared for his safety, dangling his head out the vehicle like that.

“You know, if you keep your head out the window, flying insects are bound to collide on your face. They can actually get into your eyes and nose,” she said nonchalantly. “Also, I heard that your head can get decapitated by oncoming traffic.”

Richard couldn’t get his head back in fast enough. He rubbed his face with his hands and discreetly checked his eyes and nose to make sure no wayward insects made their way in them. He narrowed his eyes at Camille. Was she teasing him or was she seriously warning him about the dangers of putting his head out a moving vehicle’s open window? ‘Is she finally warming up to me again?’ he thought hopefully.

He couldn’t glean from her face whether she was or not, because she remained resolutely looking forward with a stoic face. Maybe it was too early to expect it. She seemed to be going for a whole week’s record with her sulking. He frowned. He really didn’t think he would last that long without having a word with her. But he filed this at the back of his mind, he needed to focus on the investigation.

They arrived at the hotel and were met by the general manager. He escorted them to a room where they could view a series of CCTV footages that Richard had requested. It was a huge pile of CDs and Camille couldn’t help but scowl at the sight of them. ‘Looks like I got what I asked for. Several uneventful hours of looking through CCTV footages,’ she thought unhappily.

“Let’s whittle down the pile to the timeframe before and after the robbery happened,” suggested Richard. “From there, we can view footages of certain locations particularly the elevator, the halls leading to the hotel office and the inside of the office itself."

They both seated themselves in front of the pile and started going through every CD to sort them out. Soon they each had their own stack to view on the computers provided for their use .

Camille inclined her head from side to side. The pain on her neck and shoulders was back with a vengeance. She absentmindedly massaged her nape. She took a deep breath to refocus her attention to the task at hand. She opened the first CD and fed it to the computer, she hoped they would find what they were looking for soon.

Unbeknownst to her, Richard caught a glimpse of her movements. But he didn’t say anything. He started on his own pile of CDs to review, hoping it would yield more clues to the thief’s identity.

After two whole hours of footages, Camille found a clip that showed the burglary taking place. There were two hooded suspects who came in during lunch hour and casually got in the door of the hotel management office. One stood by the door while the other proceeded to unlock the safe.

“It looks like they’re not outsiders. They know their way around the hotel and got into the office rather quickly,” Camille said, keeping her eyes on the screen. “And it seemed one of them knows the combination to the safe.”

Richard moved to Camille’s side so he could take a closer look. She discreetly inched away, conscious of the ointment smell on her and her boss’ aversion to it. But she kept her hand on the mouse.

“Can you rewind it for a bit? A bit more. Yes, that’s it,” he told her. “Hmm...can you zoom in on this person’s jacket?” He stared at it for quite some time but couldn’t seem to make the connection yet. “Um, could you make a copy of this footage so we can take it to the station with us?”

Camille nodded and got to work. Richard sought the general manager to inform him of their findings. They would need to go back to the station to study the footage at length.

Given that it might be an inside job, there was a possibility the culprits were still at the hotel. He didn’t give that information to the manager, though. He simply said they needed to have the footage ‘analysed’ as if they had state-of-the-art equipment to do so.

He went back to the room and saw Camille doing the stretches she did earlier at the station. She had her back to the door and didn’t see him come in.

“Are you done with the copy, Camille?” he asked to announce his return. She turned and nodded at him.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, picking up the CD copy she made.

Richard nodded back: “Then we better head back to the station.”

\------------------

Inside the Defender, Richard gave Camille a furtive glance. He should be putting the puzzles of the crime together yet here he was being distracted by his unusually quiet detective sergeant. 

Camille hadn’t said a word after they drove off from the hotel. She seemed to be in deep concentration. ‘She’s probably thinking about solving the crime and I’m busy wondering if she’s all right,’ he thought to himself. Well, he couldn’t help it, all the little discreet movements she kept doing were niggling at him.

He observed she would breathe through her mouth, letting air out in a barely audible sigh and ever-so-slightly roll her shoulders back. Then she would do little inclines of her head like she was trying to loosen a tie on her neck. This one was too familiar to him to escape his notice. It was his usual mannerism when he was flustered. Next, he saw how she would hold the steering wheel tightly and bite her lower lip whenever the vehicle bounced off a pothole on the road.

He didn’t need his detective skills to know that she was still being bothered by her aching muscles. If only he had said that it was all right to use that Tiger balm thing earlier then she would’t have to suffer through this pain. It wasn't like he disallowed her from using it. He clasped his hands as he realised she was putting up with the pain so he won't grouse about the smell. But why would she make such concessions for him?

He looked out the window. Sometimes he was too self-centered to acknowledge these little compromises she did for him. It wasn’t lack of awareness or ingratitude on his part. In fact, he was becoming too aware and getting more fearful and confused by them. So he just chose to ignore them completely and at the same time feel wretched about it.

The familiar feeling of loss was making its presence known and once again he had to shove it deep down. He sorely wanted to help her. He didn’t like seeing her in pain. He wished he was one of those people who could easily express concern and offer relief. But alas, he was English. He would rather have another person voice the concern first and then he would follow suit by quietly giving support.

An idea came to his head. But first, he made sure he was clear of his intention, that he only wanted his partner to be in excellent condition to help him solve the case.

“Um, Camille,” he said, managing not to croak.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you take me to the nearest supermarket?” he requested, not looking at her.

“Okay, sir.”

He felt a stab of sadness and something else, a silent hurt, that etched across his face fleetingly. The ‘old’ Camille wouldn’t give him a short answer. She would be at him with questions, rolling her eyes at him and adamantly inquiring about the significance of a supermarket trip to the case. But the woman beside him felt like a stranger. How could she be sitting just a few inches away from him yet be miles away from his reach?

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Camille was really not in the mood to talk. She was aware that it was a complete departure from her original plan of trying to be less distant, less friendly with him. But the two hours of nonstop sorting through CDs of footages and viewing them hunched in front of a computer screen aggravated her already sore and painful muscles.

She was almost tempted to take a painkiller. But thought better of it. She was still on duty and her boss might need her to think clearly to exchange views on the case. It was really not a hard case to solve. It was obviously an inside job, but knowing how stickler for proper procedure Richard was, he would doggedly pursue every little clue and minor detail until he got to the truth.

That was what she admired about him, the persistence to dig out the truth no matter where it would come from and persevering at getting the evidence to back it up. She knew she had much to learn in this department. She was impulsive and impatient, unable to rein in her intuition. She wondered if she would ever gain some of his patience and logical skills.

When he told her to go to the supermarket, she just assumed that he would need supplies for a homegrown experiment he planned to do to solve the burglary case. Although, it was hardly in need of that much attention. But she didn’t argue with him. ‘I’ve no clue what’s going on in his head,’ she thought. ‘Best to just follow him and avoid a confrontation.’

They arrived at the supermarket and Richard got off the vehicle with a quick: “I’ll be right back.” Camille just nodded and manoeuvred the Defender around to find parking. She got off the vehicle and started doing her gentle stretches again while she waited.

She had the crazy thought of searching for a monkey bar and hanging from it to stretch her painful limbs taut. But she really didn’t think it was a good idea to add more pain to the already sore muscles. She sighed in frustration.

Just then, Richard came back, carrying a couple of plastic bags. ‘Did he do his grocery shopping?’ Camille thought. She hauled herself onto the driver seat.

“Um, could we drop by my bungalow for a few minutes? I have forgotten something that I need to get from there,” said Richard, securing his seatbelt.

“Okay, sir,” was Camille’s only reply. She suspected no experiment was forthcoming, he probably just wanted to drop off the groceries at his place. She drove toward the direction of his beach shack.

When they arrived, she was expecting him to quickly get off the vehicle, run to his house with the groceries and get back on. So she left the engine running to wait for him. But he seemed to be taking his time getting off and gathering the bags he got from the supermarket.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” he asked, without looking at her as he got off the vehicle.

“Are you going to take long?” she asked back. Richard resisted the urge to chastise her for answering a question with another question.

“A little bit. I have to find what I forgot,” he said, peering at her. “Besides, it’s blistering hot out here.”

“It’s all right. I could park in the shade,” she reasoned, not really wanting to get off the vehicle.

Richard was beginning to panic a little. He didn’t think it would be this difficult to persuade Camille to come in to his shack. Before, he didn’t need to ask her to come in, she invited herself in whether he liked it or not.

She would even come to his house unannounced, which was a little bit off-putting especially when he was still in his pyjamas, just to check up on him or drag him to go sightseeing on the island.

“Um, I might need your help,” he lied. “There’s a sort of experiment I want to do.”

That did the trick. Camille turned off the Defender’s engine, got off and reluctantly followed her boss to his shack. ‘Why can’t he just do the experiment back at the station so that Fidel and Dwayne will be there, too?” she asked herself as she uneasily stepped on his veranda.

The truth was, she didn’t want to be alone with him like this. For while she resolved to not act too differently with him at work, being at his shack presented a huge risk, a whole different challenge. She was afraid she could easily fall back to the way she was with him if she lingered here. She didn’t want to be filled with hope again.

So she was very cautious. But if it was professionally necessary, then she would have to suck it up. She just needed to act formal and detached in this situation. She reminded herself that this was about work and not a casual hanging out.

She stayed at the veranda, leaning on the balustrade and not saying a word. She faced the shimmering sea, thinking if she was needed her boss would call for her. She could hear noises inside the shack and a frustrated groan from Richard. She was curious what he was doing, but didn’t dare cross the threshold. Instead she just waited outside, much like a good and respectful work colleague would do.

“Stay where you are, Camille,” his urgent voice broke into her thoughts. She was about to spun around but Richard’s voice commanded. “Don’t move!”

“Huh? What?” she shot back, stopping in her tracks. “What?! Is there a spider crawling on me?! If it’s a snake or a scorpion I can handle it...”

Richard was stunned by the fact that Camille would readily take on a snake or a scorpion but seemed to be afraid of a spider. He couldn’t really picture her fleeing from a harmless little spider, the image was too jarring. A momentary grin escaped his lips.

“No, it’s not one of those. Just don’t move. All right?” he reassured. He saw Camille fidgeting and surmised that he had a couple of seconds before she disregarded what he said. So he had to act quickly.

Before Camille could turn around, she felt something warm and heavy being draped on her neck. She was startled at first but Richard’s firm voice behind her said: “Relax. It’s just a homemade heating pad.”

Understanding came as she felt the pad doing its job. She looked at it and saw a long and too-colorful tube sock filled with something she couldn’t guess. Richard helped her: “It’s rice grains. Um, the sock is new. I got it from the supermarket. It’s the only thing I could find that’s long enough for this purpose.”

She nodded mutely. Her mind was a mess of confusing thoughts and feelings. Eventually, she found her voice: “So, is this the experiment you wanted my help with?” she asked as neutrally as she could.

Richard was standing beside her, his arms crossed and his eyes looking out the horizon. “Well...” he began, feeling embarrassed. “I...I read about it and I’d like to know if it works.” He still didn’t look at her. He wasn’t really sure if the heat pack would make a difference.

He hoped it would or his attempt at helping her, caring for her would go down the drain. He cringed as he recalled the same attempt that failed awkwardly when her friend Aimee was murdered. Of course, he was only doing this so his partner could feel better and able to get back to work, he told himself.

“According to what I read, you need to have it on for 20 minutes to have an effect.”

“I see.” She took out her mobile phone and tapped the timer app to key in 20 minutes. She tried to clear her mind of thinking wistful thoughts. She needed to make sure they go back to the station as soon as the 20 minutes were up. She felt she was in danger of becoming enamoured with him once again.

“Do you feel any different? I mean, is it helping alleviate the pain from your sore muscles?” he asked a bit earnestly.

Camille took her time answering. _‘Why are you doing this?’_ was what she wanted to ask him. _‘Why are you being nice to me?’_ But she couldn’t. For all she knew, there was no meaning to this other than him being helpful and considerate to a colleague.

She thought he just wanted to make her feel better so they could carry on with the investigation. To be honest, she didn’t think he would notice anything. He was usually too engrossed in a case to be aware of other things outside of it. Yet, he was doing a kind gesture for her right now.

She sighed and allowed a small smile to grace her lips. “Yes, it’s helping. Thank you.”

“That’s good,” he replied, feeling relieved that he didn’t waste his trip to the supermarket. He waited for Camille to say more but she had become distant again as if her mind was somewhere else. So he went inside his shack to get the other thing he planned to give her.

Camille remained immobile, pensively fidgeting with the heating pad on her shoulders. She wished the time would go quickly. They had 20 minutes to fill with awkward conversation. It used to be that she would have already teased him mercilessly for his caring attitude, enjoying every minute of his blustering to hide his embarrassment. 

But now, she couldn’t bring herself to start something that normal. Well, it was their norm before she wrapped her heart in lead to protect herself from him and what he was unknowingly doing to her. ‘He’s my boss and colleague,’ she told herself unable to add the word ‘friend’ to the equation.

Her friendship with him had become complicated on her side. She supposed it was her fault. She didn’t think her flirtatious behaviour and teasings would lead her to actually fall in love with him.

She tried denying it so many times, telling herself he wasn’t her type and that he was just too English for her. But each time, she would come back falling harder than before.

Her disappointment on the night of the Erzulie festival two years or so ago was proof that she wanted more than friendship from him. 

So she worked on getting closer to him and being his close friend, a confidante. She forgave his rude and annoying attitude even the ones aimed at her, thinking he made up for them with kind little things he had done for her or for others. Their push-and-pull even became sort of a game, a challenge she couldn't resist. And for a time, it seemed like he was also playing. Perhaps, there was hope for them yet, she thought. 

But nothing changed. Not on his part. He remained closed-off and even became more enthusiastic at pushing her away. Of course being kind-hearted, his way of cutting her off was like that of an adult anxiously redirecting a child to do something else. At first, she had let it roll off her back, forgiving and forgetting his subtle transgressions. But lately, it was getting harder and harder for her to cope. The hurt and disappointment felt like a stab in her heart.

Then the realization came to her as suddenly and as strongly as a car hitting a brick wall, that maybe he was that way because he didn't have any interest in her. That maybe he genuinely wanted to be just friends with her. And knowing his reserved nature, she surmised that he probably couldn't outrightly rebuff her. 

It was such a rude awakening to know she was only deluding herself. She was looking at their friendship all wrong. It wasn’t him, it was her. Never had Camille felt the full impact of these words until she came to her senses. Now she was suffering hurtful feelings that she was sure he didn’t know about nor care. It wasn’t his fault anyway. Not entirely.

One day, she promised herself, she would have to explain to him why she stopped thinking of him as a friend. She needed that closure so she could move forward with her life and follow her own path. But right now, it was like a painkiller that she didn’t want to take, not until the pain becomes too overwhelming and unbearable.

She felt something touched her arm and gazed down. It was a cylindrical plastic container labelled ‘Medical Grade Epsom Salts’. She looked up and saw Richard nodding his head at her, as if coaxing her to take the container. She took hold of it and turned it in her hand, wondering what it was for and why he was giving it to her.

“Epsom Salt also known as magnesium sulphate,” he said a bit cheerfully. “It’s a dissolvable granule form of the mineral magnesium that can be absorbed through the skin when you take a bath in it.”

Camille eyed him curiously. Thinking this was his cue to explain further, Richard secretly relished the opportunity to impart interesting factoids to her. “Do you know Epsom is actually a British town? In Surrey, England, south, south-west of London to be exact. The salts were first extracted from the mineral waters there in 1618.”

She gave him a look. “Okay. So what does it do?”

“Well, when added to warm bath water, it can help alleviate muscle pain, reduce swelling, relieve stress, improve circulation, soften skin and improve mood. It provides almost instant relief from muscle aches and pains incurred on long training runs or other activities causing overexertion of large muscle groups,” he said in one breath, giving her a lopsided smile.

“So does this come with instructions on how to use it? Or am I just going to dump this in my bath water?” asked Camille, quickly avoiding looking at his smile. Her eyes searched around the container instead.

“Um, according to what I read, after every intense workout you add between two and four cups of Epsom salts in your warm bath water then you soak in it for 15 minutes. After 15 minutes, you rinse off the salts in the shower,” he said, reining a bit of his enthusiasm when he sensed Camille’s subdued mood. “Of course, I haven’t tried it so I have no clue whether it will work or not. I guess, it’s another experiment you can try.”

Camille gave him a wry smile: “Well, I’ve tried Dwayne’s ointment. That worked pretty good. So I guess, there’s no harm in trying this one, too. Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

He felt the heat of embarrassment taking hold of him. “Think nothing of it. I...I just want you to feel...you know...I just want you to be in tiptop shape to do police work,” he said with feigned jollity. She just nodded, her eyes no longer on him but out to sea. An awkward silence fell between them. 

Richard wondered if the 20 minutes were up. Things were becoming excruciating between them and he didn’t know what to do. He had hoped she would be happy with what he did, putting their misunderstanding aside and finally engage him like she used to. But she didn’t.

The sadness was beginning to grow inside him, adding to the desperate confusion he was feeling. He willed his mind to not dwell on it but the deafening silence that surrounded them was making it worse. He needed to talk if only to distract himself from it.

“So your workout was quite intense, huh?”

“Yes. It was.”

“So what was your training about?”

“Learning how to box properly.”

“Oh. I used to do boxing back at the academy...um, it was part of the training, you see. Of course, I wasn’t good at it. I barely managed to pass it. Or was it, not to pass out?”

At this, Camille glanced at him. He gave her a small smile in return, thinking his deadpan humour would lighten the mood. But what he saw held him back. Her deep brown eyes were full of unuttered sadness and bitter anguish as they desperately tried to blink away the threatening tears around them. He felt like his heart was being squeezed so he looked away.

“Camille...about the other day...you know, about what happened. I thought about it a lot...I know I can be annoying and rude sometimes. I’m sorry if I’ve been a total git. I...I just want us to be...”

The loud alarm in Camille’s phone startled them both. She turned it off, thankful that their 20 minutes was over. She didn’t think she could hold her calm facade any longer. She was getting both angry and hurt at what he was doing. Innocent though he was in most of it.

To put it simply, she was fed up with alternately feeling joy and sadness when it came to him, of always being buoyed by hope and being toyed around by it. And these kinds of action from him only made her feelings of despondency and despair worse. She willed herself to stay put and not to act like a broken-hearted teenager and runaway.

She took a deep breath and schooled her face to become cheerful. She would put to good use all the undercover acting she had under her belt. She would act normal, pretend to not hurt. From now on, she would wear this mask every time she had to deal with him.

“Don’t worry about it, sir,” she said, her voice taking on an upbeat tone as she smiled widely at him. She took the heating pad off her shoulders. “This was very helpful, by the way. I hardly have any pain anymore. I feel much, much better.”

Richard stared at her, gawping. He wanted to continue with what he was going to say but the opportunity had passed. He noticed the quick change in Camille’s demeanour. It was as if he was being given a reprieve or a way out of a difficult and embarrassing conversation. He wanted desperately to believe he was forgiven but why didn’t it feel that way?

“Um, sir, we better head back to the station. We have a burglary to solve, remember?” Camille cut through his thoughts. He managed to nod at her. “So what do I do with this?” she asked showing him the homemade heating pad he made for her.

“Keep it,” he replied, a bit hoarsely and a little deflated. “You can use it at the station. You can heat it in the microwave. It will be better than letting me suffer through Dwayne’s blasted Tiger balm all day.”

Camille faked a smile as she slung the pad over her shoulder and carried the Epsom salt without a word. She turned away from him and casually marched to the Defender. Richard was left on his veranda, looking more confused than before.   

“Sir?” He heard her voice tinged with urgency as he tried to winnow through his thoughts.

“Yes, I’m coming,” he said as he hurriedly locked his door and grabbed his case. As he walked toward the vehicle, he knew that once again, something shifted between him and Camille. Something so heartbreaking that it had the potential to tear them apart for good.

He didn’t really know what to do or where to begin mending things. But there was one feeling he recognized deeply, the urgent need to get to the bottom of it before it was all too late.

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. I have no excuse. But I'm hoping to distract you with two new chapters as update to this story! Oh myyyy...pigs can fly, miracles do happen and unicorns are real. (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ  
> I shan't tell you when I'll drop another chapter or two but please know, I truly appreciate you taking the time to read and follow this story. Thank you so much. I'll be back!ヽ(⌐■_■)ノ♪♬

* * *

Richard looked up from reading his book as if he was expecting someone to show up on his doorstep. Instead, he just saw the encompassing darkness outside and heard the gentle lapping of the waves. 

He berated himself for giving in to an expectation he knew he shouldn’t have in the first place. He forced himself to go back to his reading but he lost his place in the book. He closed it irritatedly and tossed it on the coffee table.

He walked out to his verandah and surveyed the surroundings. The stillness of the night and the almost windless atmosphere brought his thoughts back to the station that day.

They solved the case. It was an inside job as Camille correctly guessed. He found the connection he needed from the CCTV footage they brought from the hotel. The jacket of one of the perps, he noticed, had been hotel property. Furthermore, it revealed the general manager’s name embroidered on it.

It took team effort to find the suspects and the jacket. When they confronted the general manager, he denied any involvement but couldn’t account for the whereabout of his jacket. But he soon revealed that he was having a secret relationship with his assistant and he sometimes leave change of clothes with her.

Fidel and Dwayne went in search of the assistant at her apartment and just caught her, leaving hurriedly. Meanwhile, Richard and Camille found the second suspect, the assistant’s lover, holed up in one of the hotel’s first class rooms. He was apparently waiting for her to fetch him.

The confrontation between the three was bitter and ugly. The general manager had to be restrained after finding out he was being toyed with and was going to be the fall guy for the burglary. Richard wasn’t really keen on seeing such drama so he was only too glad the case was closed.

With the two suspects securely transported and the paperwork swiftly taken care of, everyone was able to take a breather. Richard, feeling exhilarated from a job well done by his team, couldn’t help but quip: “Drinks after work, anyone?”

Fidel and Dwayne quickly brighten up, quite surprised at their chief’s offer. But it was Camille who had to rain on their parade. “Um, I’ll pass. I have to hit the gym tomorrow so I’ll rest early tonight.”

Richard hid his disappointment behind his stoic mask. He understood Camille’s reason but somehow it felt like she was avoiding him. Fidel just nodded in understanding but Dwayne was having none of it.

“Oh, come on, Camille. Just one round isn’t going to make your muscles worse than they already are,” he said, clearly pouting.

“Hey, I’m not stopping you guys to enjoy your evening,” Camille said defensively. “You  can still go, you know. Only...” She looked at Richard: “Sir, don’t forget you’re on duty tomorrow.”

Richard blinked. “Oh? Oh, right. I have the Saturday schedule.” He looked resignedly at both Fidel and Dwayne. “I guess, we’ll all have to take a raincheck for tonight,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And since I’ll be manning the station tomorrow, I need to be early to bed and be well-rested.”

“Not a problem, sir. We can always do it next time,” reassured Fidel. “I, for one, am glad to be coming home earlier than usual for a change.”

Dwayne sighed. “I guess, it couldn’t be helped especially if Ms. Party-Pooper here won’t come.”

“Oh please, Dwayne. As if you don’t have plans already lined up for tonight,” Camille said, rolling her eyes at him. “It’s not like I’ve ruined your fruitful evening, especially when your mobile kept receiving text messages all day.”

Richard just looked on, feeling out of place again. He never was the person who could jump in with a witty or even cheeky remark to spontaneously join in the banter. Sometimes, he could be successful in interjecting his dry humour but most of the times, he would just say something that no one would get resulting in awkward silence and his embarrassment.

Usually, Camille would make sure to include him in the conversation, reacting to what he said, riling him up with a teasing or two, and then pushing him into the middle of it with ease. She would stand in the background, watching him flounder with embarrassment until she decides to gently guide him through the awkwardness.

Sometimes, he would be incensed by her underhanded ways and suspiciously thought she just wanted to see him suffer. But he slowly saw the truth behind her effort and realised that her tactic was a way to make him feel accepted and safe. It was as if she was telling him she was there to always back him up. 

“Oi! Those are from my contacts, alright?” Dwayne said, feigning annoyance.

“Yeah, sure.” Camille chuckled, looking at Fidel knowingly. The young sergeant smiled and just shook his head. He thought it wise not to get involved in the two’s bickering.

“Anyway, I’m heading home,” she finally said, picking up her shoulder bag and putting her chair back. “See you, Monday. Um, Dwayne, thanks for the ointment. I’ll be sure to use it.” She grabbed a paperbag and looked at her boss. “Also, thank you for these, sir.”

Richard was surprised by her sudden gratitude that he almost didn’t acknowledge it. “Nothing to it. I hope they also help...you know...” He faltered as he felt Fidel and Dwayne looking questioningly at him.

“Don’t worry, sir. It will,” Camille reassured and gave him a brief smile before heading toward the door.

He couldn’t help but gaze at her as she walked out, forcing himself to hope that the gap between them wasn’t as wide as he feared. He stopped himself from thinking about it when he felt his two other officers were still eyeing him curiously. He glanced at them and asked: “What?”

“So what was that all about, Chief?” asked Dwayne bluntly. “You gave Camille a gift?”

Richard sighed. “If you must know, Dwayne, it’s just a homemade heating pad and some Epsom Salts for her sore muscles. I figured it would be best to have her use those than let me suffer through the smell of your panther balm.”

“It’s TIGER balm, Chief,” Dwayne corrected. “Well, you won’t have to suffer long. Knowing Camille, she will most likely adapt quickly and get into the groove of proper boxing in no time.”

“Maybe I should also go into training,” mused Fidel. Both Dwayne and Richard stared at him. “Well, Camille is doing something to hone her combat skills, I was just thinking I ought to do the same. You know, update my skills.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Dwayne, putting his arm on the younger officer’s shoulder. “Let’s put you in the gym and develop your muscles. Maybe a little bit of exertion would do you good, so you wouldn’t be so uptight and strait laced at work, eh?”

Fidel made a face but quickly thought of a better deal to rope Dwayne in. “All right. I’ll hit the gym provided you hit the books and read the manual of police procedures.”

“You are 100 years too early to make me read and study anything, son,” Dwayne smirked. “But nice try. Well, good night, Chief.”

“Sir, here’s the key to the Defender. Camille gave them to me and told me to give it to you before we head home,” said Fidel. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course. Thank you, Fidel. Goodnight to you both,” he said as he saw them leave the station. He didn’t think he would have that feeling again but he suddenly felt it—the pang of loneliness.

The shrill chirp of a night bird brought him back to his beach shack. He wondered what Camille was doing. He entertained the idea of calling her on his mobile phone and telling her of another snake invasion. But he instantly dismissed it. ‘That’s totally lame,’ he thought as he rubbed his face with his hand.

He must have been really worried about their working relationship to think up of something, anything, to just have her come over to his bungalow. And perhaps, talk. If he was being honest with himself, he would readily admit that he had missed her. He knew it was a ridiculous notion because they see each other everyday at work.  He scratched the back of his head in irritation.

His exterior self, the pompous, all-businesslike persona, was telling him to not dwell on it. It was better that way, it would provide a wall. There would finally be a semblance of professional distance between them. But his true self, the one that cared, wasn’t too happy about it.

He rubbed his temples. He was over thinking things too much. ‘Guess, I’ll head to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a better handle on things.’ He shuffled miserably back inside his bungalow.

\-------------

Camille looked out her window. The night was particularly balmy and she was hoping the sea breeze would make her bedroom a little less stuffy and suffocating. After a warm bath, she took two painkiller meds and was now just waiting for the effects to kick in.

Her day at the station didn’t end too bad, she thought. They had solved the burglary case and caught the culprits without a hitch. Paperwork was swiftly done and the thieves were transported to Guadeloupe right away. All in all, they worked like a perfectly oiled machine. Efficient and on point.

She smiled to herself. ‘I guess, it could be done,’ she mused. ‘It’s possible to work with him without the romantic, hoping feeling.’ She sighed. ‘You give yourself less credit. This is not the first time you have to act in a professional and objective way.’

She knew she didn’t have to ‘act.’ She was good at her job and if it was any other detective inspector, she would have worked with him or her with the same degree of professionalism and skills. She prided herself of that even before her current boss came around. It was just that being with Richard brought on strong emotions within her.

She tried to think when she started having these complicated feelings for him. She was sure it wasn’t during the early days of them working together. No, she found him arrogant and extremely annoying back then. Someone she thought was unlikable and too uptight to work with. Their personalities were simply too different.

If it hadn’t been for her mother and the Commissioner, she would have requested for an immediate transfer during those early days. She didn’t think she could put up with him even if he had proven his brilliance in solving murder cases.

But much to her surprise and chagrin, they did get along. Rather well, in fact. Who would have thought? Of course being from Saint Marie and as his detective sergeant, she was the one who had to ease him into things, introduce him to island living and act as a buffer between him and the island and everyone else.

When she realised she misunderstood him, she wasted no time helping him out and supporting him as best she could. She emphatised with his plight—thrust in an unfamiliar place he wasn’t used to, everything and everyone he knew was on the other side of the world, having to work in a very small station lacking logistics and manpower. Who wouldn’t be disconcerted and grumpy?

His loneliness and isolation were so palpable that she couldn’t help but reach out to him. At first, she told herself that as his detective sergeant, it was part of her duty. As she got to know him and the kind and compassionate man within, she wanted to make him feel welcome and included. She genuinely wanted to be his friend.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, she got lost in a sea of being in love with him and hoping that he would love her back. She shook her head, annoyed at where her thoughts had taken her. Again. Hadn’t she resolved not to think any more of these things? It was a futile exercise, she told herself. He had no interest in her in that way. To him, they were just work colleagues.

Although, she wished she could tell him to stop being nice to her. She looked at the homemade heating pack and Epsom salts on her bedside table. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to go to that lengths to help her out. He could have just given her the information and let her deal with it on her own.

Instead, he had to do things that unwittingly add salt to her wounds. Could she tell him that to his face without hurting him? She knew she couldn’t. But if he kept at it, she would most likely find herself retreating even more. And if things got unbearable, she would have no choice but to leave. Perhaps, that would be a good course of action. The distance and absence would totally cure her of her infatuation with him.

“Infatuation? My God, that’s so juvenile,” she muttered. “I’m a grown woman and not a teenaged girl. I know I can do this and work with him without these feelings. I just needed time to readjust myself and accept the fact that there will never be anything between us, other than being colleagues.”

She let out a yawn. Finally, the painkillers were taking hold. She got on her bed and fluffed her pillow. She just wanted a restful and dreamless sleep after all the emotional roller-coaster and physical pain she had to endure the whole day. Tomorrow, she resolved to feel better.

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	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Camille woke up to a cloudy sky. She didn’t think it would rain but turned her radio on just the same to hear some news about the weather. The island can be unpredictable. She knew it was really too early to know what the weather would be like in Saint Marie. But there was one thing she knew well, rain or shine, it would always be humid.

She was glad that her muscles were no longer sore. Just a little bit of tightness here and there, which were loosened by her light stretching. She decided she would forego her usual morning run and head to the beach and swim laps. She looked out her window, the clouds were slowly dissipating and the sun was trying to peek out.

She mentally went over the things she planned on doing today: swim, house chores, errands, lunch with her mother, back to her place, then Rueben’s gym. She realised she needed to fill her weekends with non-work related things so she could resist thinking about her boss and making elaborate plans to show him around the island.

She had done enough in the way of introducing him to island life. She was sure he could now manage on his own. Anyway, what he chose to do on his free time had nothing to do with her, except when there was a murder. That sort of thing was an all-hands-on-deck for all the members of their team.

She placed her empty coffee cup in the sink and started getting ready for her swim at the beach. She looked out the window again, the sun had risen majestically up the horizon. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a good day today,’ she mused.

\-------------

Richard woke up to a cloudy sky. He didn’t think there was a storm coming but turned on the television just the same to watch a weather report. Of course, he forgot that the news was in French. He frowned at the screen but kept his eye on the satellite map being shown. He thought it useless to look at the map because he knew fully well that Saint Marie’s weather could be as unpredictable as London's.

Now that would be something: Saint Marie and London being the same when it came to unpredictable weather. But he knew only too well that these two places have one major difference: rain or shine, one would still be so very hot, while the other would still be so very cold.

He leisurely sipped his tea as he carefully went through what he planned to do for the day in his head: manage the station, go through case files, eat a banana sandwich for lunch, do a bit of cleaning up around the station, perhaps alphabetise some archived files, then go home and read a book, read a lot of books.

He realised he needed to keep busy to stop himself from thinking more about his complicated relationship with his detective sergeant. Of course, stalled relationship would be a more apt word to describe what it had become. Whereas before it was dynamic, active, and beginning to become a give-and-take kind of thing, now it seemed like it had become stuck in a rut.

He didn’t think he would care so much. He always prided himself of being able to work alone. He was a self-contained unit. Back in Croydon, if the Superintendent gave him a partner, say a detective constable, he would relegate the most mundane legwork and fact checking to him or her. He would usually be on his own doing the important ‘piecing’ together of the case.

Of course, he couldn’t get away with it all the time, especially when he would be assigned a detective sergeant. Some were begrudgingly compliant but others, those particularly under the influence of Doug Anderson, would oppose him at every turn. If he was unfortunate enough to get the latter, he just resigned himself to do all the work himself. He could never trust anyone who kept impeding his investigation.

When he arrived in Saint Marie to investigate DI Hulme's death, he didn’t expect much from the local police station. From the meager information that was given to him, he assumed that he would do all the work on his own again. Of course, the local members of the station would be there to take care of logistics, legwork and such. But he was sure they were not familiar with how a British policeman worked. So he made do.

When the Commissioner brought in Camille as his partner, his opposition was immediate. And her reaction to him just as adamant. It was the first time they agreed on something. They couldn’t work with each other. It was utterly, unequivocally impossible.

But both of them couldn’t be more wrong. After two years or so of working together, they had become quite a team, a perfect combination. Well, almost. They still got into each other’s nerves. Sometimes, he didn’t like her stroppy attitude. And she, in turn, didn’t like his pedantic nature. And yet, they had always forgiven each other. Wasn’t that how their friendship worked?

He sighed. How did things between them got so convoluted? He slowly drank his cup of tea and watched the sun trying to peek out from the dark clouds. He sighed again. Why did he care? If he was in Croydon, he would just go about his business as if nothing happened. But not here, not with her. Try as he might to think that it was professionally for the best, he couldn’t deny that her friendship had become important to him.   

By the time he locked up his bungalow, the sun was shining brightly up the horizon. He had hoped for rain to match his mood but no, this benighted island was just too bursting with life to do that. “Looks like it’s going to be a good day today,” he declared sarcastically.

\-------------

Saint Marie was a busy island, especially during the weekends. However, its inhabitants always stayed true to its laid back attitude. No one was rushing or anxious or in constant fear of being late, it was as if they follow a hidden rule: to just relax because everything has its time and place.

Apparently, its Chief of Police had yet to learn the hidden rule. For there he was trying to patiently sit through what seemed like hundreds of goats crossing the main road. His grip on the Defender’s steering wheel, loosening and tightening. He fought the urge to irritatedly honk the vehicle’s horn.

“Who is the person responsible for these wayward goats?” he muttered to himself as he looked at the herd’s slow progress. As if on cue, one of the goatherds walked in front of the vehicle, clicking his tongue as he gently prod the goats onwards.

A second goatherd came into view. He was a man in his late 60s, sporting a long white beard and equally long dreadlocks. He walked with a long staff in his hand. Richard immediately thought he looked like Moses from some old classic movie. He flashed Richard a friendly smile as he approached.

“Mornin‘ Inspector,” the old man said.

“Good morning.” Richard nodded in polite response. “Quite a lot of goats you got there.”

“Yes I,” agreed the man, stopping by the driver’s side of the Defender.

“Are there any chance you could get them to move faster?” Richard asked.

“No sir,” smiled the man. “These goats have their own timetable and we are just here to make sure that they don’t stray from it.”

“I see,” said Richard, not really understanding what the old man had just said. “Um, is there any chance they can be moved to their timetable a little bit faster?”

“No sir. We don’t want them to get all stressed out. You see, if they get stressed, they won’t be able to perform their jobs well. They won’t be inspired to clear out weeds or provide milk. No, no, no, we can’t have that,” said the old man, looking at the herd. “We want them to be happy goats. Yes?”

‘More like happy-go-lucky goats, you mean,’ thought Richard. He wondered if he would get anything done in the station if he arrived there half an hour late. He was about to tell the old man to haul the goats out of the way because he needed to respond to a police emergency.

“Oi! Richard! Come back here!” shouted the old man, stopping Richard from opening his mouth. He didn’t give the old man his Christian name so why was he calling him.

“I said, you come back here! You stubborn, naughty goat!” At this, the old man quickly ran after a goat that broke out of the herd and was now nonchalantly trotting toward the direction where the Chief of Police came from.

Richard watched as the old man caught up to his namesake and placed a rope on its neck. He proceeded to gently tugged on it, coaxing the goat to go back with him. The goat reluctantly relented, bleating loudly in protest.

“This one is a bit of a rebel. He has a mind of his own and sometimes he likes to go against the herd and do his own thing,” the man said as he patted the goat’s head affectionately. “But he’s very smart, this one. Smarter than a dog, I would say.”

Richard felt a sense of pride at this piece of news. Of course, he thought it foolish to anthropomorphize animals and their behaviour. But he couldn’t help cheer the goat on for being smart and brave to go against the herd. Clearly, it deserved the name Richard, he said to himself.

“Also, he’s very popular with the ladies.” The old man gave him a knowing wink and laughed out loud. Richard pressed his lips together to stop himself from blurting out something along the lines of: “Christ! Even the goat has it better than me!” He forced himself to smile and nod instead.

He thought Camille would find this sort of encounter hilarious if he told her about it. He bet that she would psychoanalyse every bit of the story and find ways to tease him about them. He could just picture her reaction when he tells her that the goat she named after him was smart and quite the nannies‘ billy. Nannies’ billy? Is there such a thing?

He decided not to use that phrase if he ever told her the story. Or if she ever came around to talking to him like she used to. He felt a sudden ache in his heart. There were simply things he wanted to share with her and only her. Like this whole thing with Richard the goat. He wondered if this goat was actually the baby goat that Camille named during the treasure hunter case.

“Excuse me,” he called out to the old man, who was now busy prodding the remaining herd to cross the road. “Did you name that goat yourself?”

“No sir. He was already named Richard when I adopted him from the animal sanctuary a year ago,” the old man replied, keeping a tight hold on Richard the goat’s leash.

A sudden memory came to his mind.

_“Aw, he's so sweet. Has he got a name?"_

_"No. I haven't gotten around to it yet."_

_"Oh what about Richard?"_

_"Thank you, Camille."_

He couldn't quite believe that she had suggested such a thing during an interview with a witness. He was quite infuriated but he kept his composure then in order to keep their information gathering on track.

_"After you dropped him off last night, did you come straight home?"_

_"No, I drove to the animal sanctuary on Honore. You know it?" Camille looked at him and nodded. "Picked this little fella up. They didn't think he would make it through the night. So I was here nursing him with milk every hour on the hour."_

_"Are you saying you want to use a goat as your alibi?”_

_Benjamin Sammi nodded while the baby goat bleated._

_“Feeding Richard.” Camille wrote in her notebook._

_He stared at her, unsmiling._

He recalled giving her the cold shoulder because of it. But it didn’t last long. For one thing, they were working on a double murder case together and for another, Camille didn’t seem affected by his sulking. So he gave up.

Besides, the look of awe and pride in her eyes when he revealed to her first the real reason why he made that promise to Benjamin Sammi erased whatever annoyance he felt toward her when she named that goat.

_"You really surprise me sometimes. Just when I think you don't care about anything but your job, you do something like that."_

That day, he thought, or rather felt, that she began looking at him in a different light. It flattered and confused him at the same time. He was afraid but he allowed his closed heart to momentarily open as he chased after her in the surf. He couldn’t help it, she was so beautiful. So full of life. So close, he could almost reach her.

A car horn wrenched him out of his reverie. He glanced at his rear view mirror and saw a line of vehicles had formed behind him. He looked in front and saw the last of the goat herd had safely crossed the other side of the road. The old man waved at him and he waved absentmindedly in return as he drove off.

Perhaps, he should take another cold shower. Or better yet, just bury himself in old case files. He desperately needed to take his mind off things or he would drive himself totally mad.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a slow-going, slow-burning fanfic...my apologies. Time can be my enemy sometimes. But have no worries, I shan't abandon it or leave it hanging. It will definitely come to an end. One of these days. s( ^ ‿ ^)-b
> 
> To those who celebrate Thanksgiving, Happy Thanksgiving to y'all! And to those who don't, Happy Christmas in advance! LOL.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I really appreciate it.

* * *

Camille sat on the sand, enjoying the morning sun after a good open water swim. She sipped coconut water from a freshly opened coconut peddled by a vendor roaming the beach. 

The tourists hadn’t arrived yet so it was blissfully uncrowded apart from a few local families who got there early to claim the best spots for a picnic. She looked at them wistfully. Mothers and fathers setting up tents, tables and coolers while their children played in the sand or frolicked in the water.

She remembered having a picnic by the beach with her mother and father when they were still a family a long time ago. Her father would set up the tent and chairs, while her maman would prepare the food and the drinks. She, in turn, would get busy building her sand castles. It was one of the best days of her childhood.

She often imagined what it would feel like to have a family of her own, doing the same thing: having a picnic at the beach, swimming and playing in the water, building sand castles. Her heart suddenly hitched as she struggled to keep unbidden tears from falling. She was usually all right with recalling such things from her past. She had thought she could remember them fondly by now without feeling sad about them. But she was wrong. The familiar pain still lingered.

Maybe because of this thing with Richard she was going through. She had been feeling a slew of emotions lately that had left her bereft, confused and simply heartbroken. Maybe this state of despair was bringing back other painful aspects of her life she thought had been healed or forgotten.

There were times, she would go as far as fantasize that it would be her and Richard and their child doing such an activity. It was fun to imagine it then, back when she had hope. But it had become painful lately. No, she wouldn’t think of these things anymore. She was determined to make this day and the next ones better.

She closed her eyes and listened to the waves, coming in and out of the shore. She filtered out other background noises: the mothers’ voices admonishing their children, the fathers’ boisterous laughter, the children’s playful shrieks and the steady hum of traffic from the road nearby.

And for a moment the susurrus of waves breaking on sand was all she could hear. It brought her utter calm and comfort. She wished her days would always be like this, no worries, no heartaches. She slowly opened her eyes, the cacophony of sounds around her going back to normal.

She took a last sip of her coconut water and placed the coconut in a plastic bag. She would eat the coconut meat later. She stood up, expertly tying her pareo into a wraparound dress to cover herself. She shook the sand off her beach towel thoroughly and slung it on her shoulder. She had better go before the beach got too crowded.

As she headed up the road toward her apartment, she saw from a distance a rather unusual sight, an old man walking a goat on a lead. She smiled to herself. Well, it would be an odd sight for tourists, but for the locals it was just a regular thing.

She waved at the old man happily. The old man, in turn, gave her a toothy smile and hollered, _“Bonjou gyal, wah a g’warn?”_

 _“Bonjou, Eugene. Me yah!”_ she shouted back as she excitedly walked toward man and goat. She could hear the goat bleating gleefully.

When they finally met, Camille gave the old man a quick hug. _“Sa ou fe?”_

_“Sa ka mache, e wou?”_

_“Man byen!_ I see, you brought Richard along,” she said, smiling widely as she kneeled down to take a good look at the goat. “ _Bonjou, Richard_. You are looking quite healthy and dashing today.” She patted the goat’s head and scratched behind its ears affectionately.

“Oh, you know how this goat is, he always insists on having his morning walk into town away from his herd before he does his work,” answered Eugene, rolling his eyes.

Camille laughed. “I’m so sorry. I think I may have spoiled him too much before you adopted him,” she said as she stood up. Meanwhile, Richard the goat stood beside her, trying to nuzzle her hand with its head.

“Naw, I think this goat already has such a quirky personality when he was born. He’s just too smart for his own good sometimes,” said the old man. “But see, he knows where to find you every time. Clearly, he is very much aware of who his most favourite _gyal_ is.”

Camille laughed again and shook her head. She was glad to see that Richard the goat was in very good hands. Eugene, one of her mother’s longtime friends in Saint Marie, was both a conscientious farmer and an avid animal lover. He was patient but firm with his animals and genuinely cared for them even the problematic ones. So he was the perfect caretaker for the wayward but smart goat.

She recalled it was only a year ago that she took over for Benjamin Sammi as the goat's carer at the animal sanctuary. When the young man was shipped to Guadeloupe to be formally charged with murder, she worried about the baby goat’s future. Who would take care of it when Benjamin was gone?

A day after they made the arrest, she paid a visit to the animal sanctuary to make sure Benjamin left Richard the goat in their care. The staff assured her that he would be taken care of but since they have more animals than regular carers, they would have to ship him off to a goat farm when he becomes old enough.

One look at the feeble little goat was all it took for her to decide to volunteer at the sanctuary and help take care of him. She just couldn’t bear the thought that somewhere in the shelter, there was a lonely little goat named Richard, not unlike his namesake, that would suffer in solitude. She figured if she couldn’t help Richard the human out of his loneliness, perhaps she could at least help Richard the goat be less lonely when he grows up.

The goat was a skittish little kid and it took a while for him to warm up to Camille. He was weak and thin for his age and people at the sanctuary were worried he may not live to adulthood at all. But Camille wasn’t deterred by that dire prospect. She was determined to help him survive. 

It took six months to bring Richard the goat to good health. At that time, Camille volunteered at the sanctuary on her days off. She would also drop by to look in on him on her lunch breaks when things were slow at the station. None of her colleagues knew what she was up to. It was something she chose not to share with them, not out of selfishness but more of wanting to do something private on her own.

Her volunteer work became an unintended hobby for her, a retreat of sorts where she wouldn’t think about murders or crimes and just be with the animals. Although sometimes, she couldn’t help but ‘talk’ to Richard the goat about the person he was named after. Well, it was more like ‘complaining’ about the man really and she was grateful goats didn’t talk. She was sure that if they did, the young goat would probably tell her to give it a rest.

Camille observed that Richard the goat was smarter than most goats. He would figure out how to open doors and nudge chairs to place them under windows to look outside. He was always getting into trouble, escaping from all manner of enclosures he was placed into, hiding in the forest or someplace for days and then coming back as if nothing happened. But she also knew he was a hard little worker because every time he was given a job to do, he set out to do it. He was a champion weeder.

But his tendency to stray away from the herd and do his own thing was a bothersome trait for goat owners. They didn’t want to waste time running after a stray and getting him back in line. So nobody would adopt him. Camille was worried. At this rate, he may get shipped to a slaughterhouse.

So she desperately sought out farmers, goat owners and even regular families to see if they want a smart pet goat. But no one seemed to want him. It was a good thing her maman remembered her farmer friend, Eugene, who was living on a huge-acred land at the foot of the mountains.

When she visited the old man in his farm, she made sure that he would not sell Richard the goat for meat. The old man was incredulous at the thought and quickly reassured her: “My goats are not for meat. Some are for breeding purposes, others for milk and most are for my weed control business.”

Camille felt relieved. Richard the goat would live out his days in a very nice farm surrounded by does or nannies that would give him some loving. She chuckled at the thought. But she was mostly thankful that someone like Eugene agreed to adopt him. On her visit, she saw that all sorts of animals lived in his farm, all looking healthy and well-cared for. She immediately knew he would be a kind and good carer for the young goat.

When came time to bring him to Eugene’s farm, she couldn’t help but be a bit tearful at their parting. That day, she volunteered at the sanctuary to help feed and groom him and facilitate his adoption. Richard the goat seemed to sense what was happening and stayed by her side all the time.

“You will like Eugene’s farm. There are a lot of space to roam and eat grass. Plus, you won’t be bored anymore. There will be other goats to play with you,” she said as she brushed him down and placed a rope around his neck. She led him to Eugene’s truck, which was waiting outside the sanctuary.

It was then that Camille experienced firsthand the literal meaning of being ‘stubborn as a goat’. For as soon as Richard the goat saw the enclosure on Eugene’s truck, he dug his heels on the ground and refused to go in.

Camille was astonished at the goat's unexpected strength when he really didn’t want to do something. She had never seen him this stubborn and no amount of pulling or tugging on the lead could make him budge. He was furiously standing his ground, much like Richard the human would do every time she would make him do something contrary to what he wanted.

‘Merde! I didn’t think he can also be as stubborn as Richard,’ she thought in exasperation.

It was a good thing Eugene stepped in to save them both from the tug-of-war. “Here, Camille, don’t pull on his lead. The more you pull, the more he’ll want to stay put. Yah? But don’t worry, I have something for this occasion.” He winked at her as he rummaged through his bag and found a Ziplock bag of pellets.

“Calf manna,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. He poured the pellets on Camille’s hand. “These have been one of the most favourite treats of my cows and goats. They LOVE this stuff. Go on offer it to him.”

Camille gave the lead to Eugene and presented the treat to Richard the goat. He smelled it once and proceeded to eat them off Camille’s hand. Eugene motioned for her to slowly move to the enclosure and go up the ramp by the open door. Richard the goat followed her every step of the way.

Once her hand was empty, she re-directed the goat’s attention to the treats that were inside the enclosure. The goat stepped in and happily munched the pellets left there by Eugene. He didn’t even notice the old farmer closing the door gently behind him.

“Wow! That was easy,” said a relieved Camille. “For a minute there I thought we would have to forcefully carry him inside the enclosure. I would really hate making him feel stressed on the way to your farm.”

“From the many years I've spent around animals, I found that they can think for themselves. We just need to ‘convince’ them they want to do what you want them to do. Yah?” Eugene said, tapping the side of his nose as he gave her a wide grin.

“I guess so,” Camille agreed. She gave the old man a hug. “Thank you so much for adopting him. I really appreciate the generous gesture.” She couldn’t help the lump forming in her throat when Richard the goat started bleating in protest.

Eugene gently patted her on the back. “Thank you for taking care of him. He is one lucky goat to have come this far and that’s because of you.”

“No, it’s not just me, Eugene. Benjamin Sammi and the rest of the staff at the animal sanctuary also gave him the care he needed at the time he needed it the most,” she said as she glanced teary-eyed at the goat.

“Then thanks to all of you, he will live a happy and fruitful life,” reassured Eugene. “You know, you’re always welcome to come to my farm and visit him often. I’m sure this young fellow would be happy to see you. Animals can remember, you see. They always remember the humans who cared for them.”

Camille couldn’t help the tears from falling freely down her cheeks. She knew this should be a happy event for Richard the goat. He had found a forever home where he could live out the rest of his days.

But he had become a part of her everyday life. Taking care of him had been her solace when things got difficult at work. To her, he wasn’t just any other goat. He was Richard the goat, a sort of surrogate for the very person she wanted desperately to show her love to.

“I would like that, thank you,” she said as she dried her tears with the back of her hand. “I would definitely come and visit him.” She placed a hand in between the bars of the enclosure and patted the goat’s head. “Now you be good, okay? Try not to get into trouble and give Eugene a hard time.”

Richard the goat bleated and nuzzled her hand.

“Did you give him a name?” Eugene asked.

Camille nodded. “His name is Richard.”

\------------------ 

The sudden sound of a car honking brought her back to the beach with Richard the goat and Eugene.

“By the way, I met the Chief of Police a little while ago,” the old man said out of the blue.

Camille forced a smile on her face, it seemed she couldn’t escape from being further reminded of her boss on her day off. “Oh really? Where?”

“My lads and I were taking a herd to do some weed control on Havana Resort’s grounds earlier and I saw him in the police vehicle, waiting patiently for all our goats to cross the road,” Eugene replied. He paused as if contemplating on what he was going to say next or more like debating whether he should say his observation out loud. Eventually, he came out with it: “Um, does the Inspector always wear a woolen suit?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Even during the weekends?”

Camille nodded slowly, giving Eugene a look that seemed to say, ‘Believe me, he does.’

“Someone ought to teach him the island’s way,” the old man said, clearly perplexed. “He needs to lose the suit and learn to relax. I’m surprised he hasn’t fainted from the heat.”

Camille was about to say: ‘Oh you don’t know half of it. He always faints.’ But stopped herself just in time, she didn’t want her boss to be deemed physically weak. Stubborn as a goat, yes. “Eugene, I don’t think he’ll ever get the hang of island living. He’s just too set in his ways...you know...just too...”

“English?” was Eugene’s quick answer, mimicking a British accent.

“Exactly,” Camille quipped, laughing a little.

“Do you know he got to see one of Richard’s antics earlier?” said Eugene, sounding prouder than he should.

“Oh my god, what did he do?” Camille asked in surprise. She wasn’t quite sure which Richard she was referring to, the goat or the Chief of Police.

“Well, while the herd was crossing the road, Richard did his usual thing of straying away and heading toward the beach on his own,” narrated the old man with the goat snorting as if irritated with having his carefully laid out plan foiled. “Yah? It was a good thing I saw you right away or you would have been long gone, you naughty goat. You can't just skip work whenever you like, you know?” said Eugene, turning to the goat and shaking a finger at it in mock annoyance.

“I don’t know where he got that habit from, Eugene. When he was in the sanctuary, he did the same thing and everyone got so worried. We thought we had lost him,” Camille said, emphatising with the old man's plight. “But you know what? He always came back after a day or two.”

“I know. Isn’t that something?” Eugene couldn't help but laughed out loud. “Now, I don’t worry too much because he is able to get back to the farm on his own. He is like a homing pigeon that could find its way home."

“Really?” Camille looked at Richard the goat with newfound pride. “See, I told you he is quite smart.”

“When I told the Inspector that Richard here is one smart goat, he seemed impressed. I even told him Richard is also quite popular with the lady-goats,” the old man guffawed mischievously.

Camille resisted the urge to burst out laughing as she imagined the look on Richard's face when he got that news. She was sure he didn’t like hearing that even a goat was luckier than him when it came to the ‘ladies’. She placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling too much. Then it hit her. Did she or her maman mentioned her boss’ full name to Eugene? 'Merde!' She said to herself as she mentally slapped her forehead. 

If one of them did, then the old man would most likely remember it in due course. If that happened, she would have a big problem. She could already hear the inevitable questions in her head: Why did she name the goat after Richard? Did it mean she love him? Or did she despise him that much? Camille glanced up the sky, silently begging for forgiveness.

Perhaps, she needed a cover story in case Eugene came around to realising she had named Richard the goat after her boss, the Chief of Police. She couldn’t really say she did it to rile him up during a murder investigation some time ago. It would seem unprofessional of her. 

Come to think of it, she didn’t give it much thought when she suddenly suggested the name to Benjamin Sammi. On hindsight, it only showed he was always on her mind. But he didn’t like the idea one bit and even went on a sulk, giving her the cold shoulder.

To make amends, she planned to properly explain to him why she chose that name for the goat but he was actively ignoring her so she ignored him back. They only came to a truce because they were working on a double murder case together. They had to forgive and forget, this was how their friendship worked even in such petty things. If they hadn’t, they would have probably went on ignoring each other for quite some time, each one waiting for the other to either give in or give up.

She stopped herself from reminiscing further. Things were no longer petty from her point-of-view and she was having a hard time forgiving and forgetting. She needed to step away from their friendship or whatever it was they had and looked at something bigger than themselves, she thought resolutely. Richard the goat rubbed his head on her leg. He seemed to have sensed Camille’s change in mood.

She kneeled beside the goat and petted its head. She guessed she would have to tell Eugene her proper explanation, it was the truth anyway. Besides, she won’t be sharing any of it to Richard anymore since she resolved to deal with him on a strictly professional manner.

“You know what, Eugene? When I suggested ‘Richard’ as the name for this goat, it was more like a practical joke or something to annoy someone. But when I went to the sanctuary to see how this guy was doing, everyone there had started calling him Richard. I was surprised that the name was used and taken seriously. So I got to thinking that I should also reflect on why I gave that name.”

She sighed. She imagined it would probably be difficult telling this to Richard face-to-face but truth be told, it was just as difficult to be open about it to anyone. “I...I know of a Richard who is stubborn, unsociable and set in his own ways. He is also smart, kind and compassionate. And despite being alone and isolated, he is striving to live as best he could. So I chose the name because of that person, because I want the little goat to overcome his difficulties, to survive and continue living as best he could just like the person he was named after. And I...” Camille said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I just want both of them to be happy."

She sniffed as she casually wiped the corners of her eyes. Richard the goat nuzzled against her as if to comfort her. “I’m sorry. I suddenly said some weird things, huh?”

“It’s all right, Camille. There's nothing weird about what you said. It all boils down to love, isn't it? Love is what makes us want happiness for everyone we care about. Yah? And that is never weird,” Eugene said gently as he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Well then, I’ll make you a promise. I won’t call this goat by any other name except that one. It seems like Richard suits him best,” the old man chuckled. “And it looks to me, Richard here adores you quite a lot.”

Camille just nodded gratefully, smiling in spite of the tears that lined her eyes. She patted the wayward but smart goat's head fondly. ‘At least, there's one Richard who loves me.'

* * *

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon my French. (~_^)

* * *

 

Richard watched from the station’s balcony as the vendors of the makeshift marketplace pulled down their tents and started packing their wares away for the day. The place was still noisy and filled with locals and tourists milling about. But soon, they would all be on their way home, leaving the road by the station silent and calm again.

He secretly enjoyed the lively din of the marketplace. Sure, it was annoying sometimes when someone’s music became obnoxiously loud, but he had grown used to the sound of the bustling little market, blending with the gentle waves on the beach. The sounds of people’s voices, the haggling, the laughter and the occasional arguments that didn’t turn serious. They all showed how vibrant and alive Saint Marie was despite the unbearable heat.

In London, it was a different aural experience. As one walked on its streets, its sounds mingled together to form a sort of ambient noise in the background. There were cars honking from every direction, construction equipment roaring to life, shoes walking on pavement, and indistinguishable human voices buzzing incessantly like flies at the back of one’s head.

He had a love and hate relationship with the city’s noise. On one hand, it gave him comfort because it was familiar and constant, on the other, it was annoying and severely headache inducing. And yet, it was home. Or at least, he thought it was.

So much had happened to him in Saint Marie and he was beginning to think that he was getting the hang of living on the island. Not that he would say that out loud. He had no plans of ‘living’ like the locals when it came to his profession. For him, the suit would have to stay. It reminded him of who he was and what he was there for. Although, once in a while, he would take off his jacket or unbutton his sleeves to get respite from the heat.

And today was that one rare occasion when he was without his jacket on as he gazed down at the final hustle and bustle of the market. He didn’t mind being seen without it since it was nearing dusk and his duty was coming to an end anyway.

His day at the station remained uneventful except for some colorful encounters. Nothing major really, just trivial ones that he thought were a waste of time had he not been the Chief of Police and thus, must present a by-the-book authority to the public, which meant he took everything into account seriously.

It seemed like today was mostly dominated by goats. First, he was confronted by a herd of them on his morning drive to work and meeting his goat namesake that apparently one-upped him when it came to sex appeal. He let out an unconscious sigh of defeat and acceptance.

Well, he couldn’t even mend his relationship with his DS, how in god’s name could he get better with his love life? He clearly sucked at human relationships. ‘Make that relationships with women,’ he corrected himself quietly.

At the station, he had to mediate between two farmers arguing over a goat. Each one claiming he was the rightful owner. So he decided to ask for paperwork to prove ownership but he was only meant with incredulous stares, indicating he was being an idiot for even asking for such a thing.

So realising it was a complete waste of time to try to check ownership this way, he went with a more crude method despite the serious protestations he was experiencing from every logical cell of his body.

He suggested to the supposed ‘owners’ to call the goat to them to see whom the goat would go to. He remembered this bit of info when Fidel told him about a similar incident when the late DI Hulme was in charge.

The disputing farmers each had his turn of calling the goat to him in every possible way but neither one was successful. At this point, Richard was getting thoroughly fed up with the whole case. “Oh for goodness’ sake, how hard can it be to get a goat to come to you if you’re the rightful owner?” he asked the two farmers in exasperation.

The two just shrugged, at a lost on what to do next. “Have you given this goat a name of some kind? Like Jerry, Edward or Maurice?” Richard asked. When the two farmers shrugged again, he had enough. “Right. It looks to me that this goat doesn’t belong to either of you and so I will confiscate it until the rightful owner comes to claim it.”

They were about to protest but Richard held up his hand to stop them. “Gentlemen, this case is closed. I suggest you leave before I arrest you for claiming property that doesn’t belong to you! Good day!” 

Of course, he didn’t account for what to do next when he was left alone with the ‘property’ in question, which was now looking at him placidly. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for some peace and quiet.” The goat bleated. He sighed as he ran his hand over his face. ‘Where the hell am I going to keep this goat?’

The goat bleated again and released a bunch of tiny pellets on the floor. “Oi, I just cleaned that floor!” he shouted, not quite sure how to approach the culprit to stop it from further doing its business. To be honest, he was not an animal person. But he had a healthy respect for them, especially wildlife and farm animals. A bad encounter with a group of geese had left an indelible mark in his psyche that wildlife and any kind of farm animals were to be admired only from a safe distance.

And yet here he was just a few paces from a farm animal that saw it fit to use his police station as its loo. He forced his brain to think of something quickly as he mentally recalls where they keep the broom and the dustpan as well as disinfectant spray to clean up the mess.

Just then, an idea popped into his head. He went to the area where the cells were and unlocked one of its doors. He went back to the goat, which was now chewing on a bunch of paper he chucked in the bin. “Alright, you! Time to get into the cell. Come on move it,” he said.

The goat just ignored him and continued its chewing. Richard berated himself for talking to a goat as if it was a pet dog. But if what Fidel said was true, he could most likely coax the goat into the cell by calling to it. It may not work but the only other option was to get close to the animal, grab it and pull it to jail.

He straightened his tie and readied himself. He made a short, guttural sound with his tongue and what came out sounded like a combination of tutting and clucking. The goat looked at him in wonder. ‘I see. That had an effect,’ he thought to himself quite gleefully. He continued with his tutting-clucking combo, adding an encouraging gesture for the goat to come to him.

The goat stopped its paper chewing and started cautiously trotting toward him. Richard felt a surge of adrenaline at his success in making the goat come to him as if he was a goat-whisperer. He slowly edged to the open door of the cell, making his tutting-clucking noise and doubling his effort to be enthusiastic with his encouragement.

The animal was now walking toward him with a light gait and a wagging tail as if it was all too happy to follow his lead. But at the very last minute, it veered away from Richard’s direction and broke into a run, heading out the station’s front door.

“Oi!” Richard shouted as he legged after the escaping goat. “Bollocks!” He didn’t know how he managed to catch the goat before it slipped out of the door. But he was now holding onto its neck collar, the little bell ringing wildly as the goat kept bleating and struggling from his grasp. “Oh for god’s sake, pipe down! I’m not going to roast you! Though that stunt you pulled on me, I have the mind to get you served on a platter!” He spat, panting heavily from his effort.

But the goat kept bleating like it was being slaughtered. Richard realised the goat might be quite scared of him. So against all his logical thinking, he changed the tone of his voice in an attempt to calm the animal down. “There, there. I know we have gotten on the wrong foot. But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to help you find your rightful owner, okay?” He gingerly patted the goat’s head and saw the instant effect of his touch. The goat stopped bleating and nuzzled his hand.

Richard smiled to himself for this was a revelation. He never thought that such a contact would have an impact on both of them. He had read the benefits of human-animal interaction to one’s well-being. He knew that happens with regular pets because he had such a bond with his favourite dog at his grandparents’ house. But he never really tried it out with farm animals.

Now that the goat was relaxed, he tried to tug at the collar to lead it to the cell. But the goat wouldn’t budge. This puzzled Richard. He gave another good pull at the collar but the goat clearly had a stubborn streak. “Oh come on. You don’t expect me to carry you there!” He said incredulously. Looking at the goat, he estimated it weighed about 10 stones. He would surely break his back if he even makes an attempt to lift it or push it for that matter.

He wracked his brain, trying to figure out this new dilemma when an earlier memory surfaced from the back of his mind: his encounter with the old goatherd and Richard the goat this morning. He recalled how the old man caught the wayward goat by placing a rope around its neck like a lead and pulling and coaxing it to come with him.

Keeping a tight hold of the goat’s collar, Richard looked around the station for a rope he could use but to no avail. He was sure there would be a rope in Dwayne’s or Fidel’s desk, not that he rummaged through it but he thought they were the kind of police officers who would keep such things in an emergency (unlike him).

But the desks were out of his reach and he loathed to let go of his hold of the goat’s collar. It was one thing to keep it calm and another to keep it from running off again. He was sure that as soon as he took his hand off the collar, the goat would bolt and he didn’t think he would be able to run after it again.

He looked around dejectedly. What could he use? Then his gaze fell upon the tie on his neck. He grimaced at the thought but desperate times called for desperate measures. And he was getting desperate indeed. He loosened his tie and pulled on it to release it off his neck. He then proceeded to tie a secure knot on the collar and tested its hold. It held pretty well. He smiled in satisfaction at his handiwork.

“Now then. Shall we head on to the cell?” he said to the goat as he tugged gently on the makeshift lead and made his tutting-clucking noise again. The animal turned and began walking by his side. He did an imaginary fist pump in the air.

With the goat secured in the cell. He set out to clean up the mess it did. He would have to find hay and place a water bowl for the goat. He looked at his tie and sighed. It seemed he won’t be wearing it for the rest of the day, so he stuffed it in his trouser pocket. He made a mental note to launder it when he gets back home. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, time to get to work disinfecting the place.

An hour or so later, everything was back to normal, cleaned and disinfected and smelling like bleach. Even the goat’s accommodation had been properly stocked with hay and water. He looked around the station as he leisurely sipped a cup of tea by his desk. ‘Well done, Poole,’ he thought to himself proudly.

Tomorrow he would task Fidel in making flyers to be put up in various places to find the goat’s owner. Judging from the goat’s behaviour, he suspected that it may have been a pet goat and surely the owner would want it back. It was only a matter of time before he or she would come to the station and ask for the police’s help.

Just then a boy of about six years of age came running inside the station, shouting: “Camille m’aide! Poupon est parti...” Richard almost spilled his tea at the little boy’s high-pitched voice. For a second, he thought his teacup had shattered. But he quickly regained his composure and managed to greet him, “Hello?”

The boy was equally startled by his presence. He looked around the station in confusion, most likely trying to find where Camille was. Richard sensed it and said gently, “Camille n’est pa la aujourd’hui. But I’m Detective Inspector Richard Poole, how may I help you?”

The boy just stared at him, speechless. His disappointment painfully etched on his face. His little feet shuffled backward, slowly inching his way out the door. “Poupon...is gone...” the boy whispered, blinking his eyes to stop the tears from falling. “Only Camille can help...”

Richard was at a loss on how to help the child. He didn’t have any actual experience in dealing with cases involving children. The little knowledge he acquired was from books and psychology training he attended a long time ago. He hadn’t had the chance to put them to good use since he mainly dealt with adults.

But one thing was certain in his detective mind, the boy somehow needed the police’s help. He wouldn’t be here at the station looking frantic and asking for Camille if he didn’t. Richard knew he had to think of a way to gain the child’s trust first. He didn’t want to frighten him by appearing too eager to know by suddenly asking a lot of questions.

“Tell you what,” he said in his most friendly voice. “You could leave Camille a message and I would make sure she gets it right away.” He took his trusty little notebook and pen from his desk, casually walked to the boy and sat down on his hunches so that he would be at the boy’s eye level.

The boy instinctively took a step back but Richard took no notice of it. “Alright. First, let’s write down your name so Camille would know who sent the message.”

The child gave him a hesitant look while pursing his lips together. Richard thought he had changed his mind and decided to not say anything to him. But the boy spoke up, “My name...is...Marcel.”

“From Marcel,” Richard wrote in his notebook. “And you said it is about Poupon, right?”

The boy nodded again, this time in earnest. Richard continued writing, “Hmmm...how do you spell Poupon? Is it P-O-U-P-O-N like this?”

He showed the notebook to Marcel and the boy came closer to read what he wrote. He nodded shyly at Richard. “Can you tell me what happened to Poupon so I can let Camille know?”

This time Marcel didn’t hesitate. His words came out in torrents as he spoke. Unfortunately for Richard, they were all in French. He tried as best as he could to catch the words he could understand but alas, his French was limited. He had to think of a way to have Marcel tell him again in English.

But he did manage to write down some of the words and sentences he understood in his little notebook. From tidbits here and there, he could glean the situation little Marcel was trying to convey to him. Somebody important was missing and he couldn’t find her anywhere. Of course, this was only from the context clues he got. It may not be the accurate event.

So he decided to confirm his assumption through the boy. This time in a language he knew best.

“Alright. I will repeat what you told me in English and I would like you to tell me if what I wrote is right or wrong. Okay?” Richard said, hoping he didn’t totally miss what the boy tried to tell him. Marcel just nodded solemnly.

“So you visited Poupon in her maison, um, home this morning,” Richard started, looking at the boy for confirmation. “And she wasn’t there. You looked everywhere for her. In the market, on the plage, um, beach, at the cafe...”

“Yes. She likes the smell of cafe...” Marcel quipped.

“I see. And you didn’t find her,” Richard continued. “You also looked for her under the...”

“Le pont...um, by the river...” the boy said, gesturing with his hands.

“Under the bridge by the river, you mean. I see,” Richard said, forming a clearer picture of the boy’s story. “You also searched for her in and around your farm?”

“Yes. But she wasn’t there," Marcel said in a voice full of worry. "She...she maybe lost...somewhere..."

“Marcel, you did the right thing coming to the police station,” Richard said gently. “We, I mean, Camille, Fidel, Dwayne and I will try our best to help you find her.”

The boy nodded, letting out a sniffle as he tried hard not to cry.

Richard's heart clenched at the sight of the child trying to be brave as best as he could. He resolved to help him find Poupon even if it takes the whole night to do it. “Now I still need your help. Can you describe Poupon for me?”

Marcel furrowed his brows. “She has white hair...”

Richard started writing in his notebook again. ‘It might be his grandmother, then.’ He thought.

“She has a fur coat...a red necklace...that goes ding-ding when she walks...” The boy was now talking animatedly.

Richard still wrote diligently in his notebook. ‘That’s good, a description of what she was wearing the last time he saw her. Wait a minute, who would wear a fur coat in this Caribbean heat? My god, his grandmother must have dementia. We have to find her quick.’ He thought worriedly.

Richard was already forming a plan of action in his head for the missing old woman that he had momentarily tuned out the rest of what Marcel was trying to say.He was on the verge of mentally dividing the manpower for the search parties when he caught something odd in the boy’s continuing description.

“She has four feet...she has a big belly...and a bushy tail...Oh, she likes to eat grass and...”

“Hang on, Marcel. Can you repeat what you said just now?” Richard asked, wanting to confirm what he heard.

“Yes. Poupon has four feet. She has a big belly and a bushy tail. She likes to eat a lot of grass,” Marcel said nonchalantly.

Richard caught himself before he could run his hand over his face. This was why Richard Poole didn’t act on mere assumptions alone. He silently berated himself for jumping to conclusion. He looked at the words in his little notebook again and found the one word he missed entirely. He felt so ashamed.

“Chevre,” he said absentmindedly.

“Yes. Poupon is my pet goat,” Marcel simply said.

Pet goat? Something clicked in Richard’s brain. Again, he caught himself before he could say out loud: ‘Of course!'

“Marcel, we are almost done with your message to Camille. Why don’t you sit by my desk while I get, um, a stationary in the back room? Will you wait for me, please?”

The boy didn’t say a word but went to Richard’s desk and sat on his chair obediently. “Right. I’ll be back in a second,” reassured Richard as he walked briskly to the cells.

He took a good look at the goat chewing hay in the cell. ‘Could this be Poupon?’ he thought. “Let’s see, she has an all white fur. A red necklace that goes ding-ding...probably her collar. And a big belly?" At this, he spied the goat's protruding udders. "Definitely, a she.”

Of course, he had no way of knowing if the goat really belonged to Marcel. The child would most likely not know about paperwork and such. But there was one thing he could do to prove ownership, Richard thought. He went back to his desk immediately.

“Alright, Marcel. I have a very important question that I would like you to answer honestly,” Richard said, crouching by the child’s side. “Does Poupon come to you when you call her? You know, like a pet dog?”

Marcel pondered the question. His brows furrowed. “All goats come to you when you call them. Especially, if you have their food ready.”

Richard smiled. He totally forgot that every child in Saint Marie knew this for a fact. They grew up around goats after all. Still, he had to persist. “Yes. But how about Poupon? Say, if you call her from here and she heard you. Will she recognise your voice and come to you?”

This time, the boy looked confused so Richard had to explain. “You see, we have a goat in our cell today and we are looking for her owner. Now she may or may not be Poupon. That’s why I’m asking if she would come to you if you call her.”

Marcel’s face lit up. “You found her? Can I see her? Please?”

Richard hated to put a damper on things for the little boy but he knew he had to do everything by the book with no exceptions. “Marcel, listen. I want you to keep in mind that she may not be Poupon, alright?”

The boy nodded gravely. But that obvious hopeful excitement was writ on his face. ‘Oh please, let this be Poupon,’ Richard thought desperately. He really didn’t want this child to be heart-broken if it wasn’t.

“Alright, Marcel. Let’s play a game called a test of ownership. I want you to stand over here and wait,” he said as he guided the child by the beaded curtain that separated the cells from the main office of the station. “Stay here while I open the cell door in that room. When I give you the signal, call Poupon’s name the way you usually call her to you as loudly as you could. Can you do that for me?”

Marcel smiled at him radiantly. “Yes!”

Richard rushed to the cells and open the cell door where the goat was, making sure no obstacles were in the path. He stood in between the cells and the main office and gave little Marcel the thumbs up.

“Poupon! Poupon! Viens ici, Poupon! Viens ici!” Marcel called as loud as he could. Richard watched the goat’s reaction in the cell. He saw it stopped chewing, pricked one ear and bleated loudly. Then the goat came out of the cell in a flash, running toward the familiar sound and heading straight into Marcel’s outstretched arms.

Richard couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him. It reminded him of his relationship with his one best friend in the world, Laddie. Oh, how he loved and missed that Irish setter. He noticed his eyes getting a bit watery so he had to vigourously blink them a couple of times. He was happy to see the little boy and his goat reunited.

“Poupon,  où étais-tu passé?” the boy asked the goat as he rubbed its head. He reached for something out of his pocket and gave it to the goat. “It’s calf manna. Goats like it a lot.” He said without looking at Richard.

“May I take her home now?” This time he looked at Richard directly. His face bright and happy. Richard smiled back at him and nodded.

“I guess we don’t have to send Camille your message,” he said with just a tad bit of disappointment in his voice. The little boy’s missing pet would have been a perfect bridge to reconnect him with his DS. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

Marcel nodded in agreement. “But you could tell her you helped me find Poupon. She would love to hear that Poupon is found safe.” He said as he took out a leash from his other pocket and expertly tied it on the goat’s collar.

“She would?” Richard asked, heart filling with hope.

“Yes. She was the one who helped us adopt Poupon from the animal sanctuary,”Marcel said as he tested the leash around the goat’s neck by tugging at it gently. “She also has a favourite goat over there that she loves a lot.”

“Oh, really? What’s the goat’s name?” Richard asked, remembering Camille’s propensity to give names to animals she happened to find cute and adorable.

The little boy inclined his head and furrowed his brows, trying hard to remember. “Hmm...sorry but I forgot.”

“No worries,” Richard said. “You two best be on your way home. It’s going to be dark soon and I don’t want your parents to come over here all worried because you’ve gone missing.”

Marcel tugged at the leash and led the goat toward the door of the station. But before he stepped out, he turned and said: “Um, thank you very much for helping me and for taking care of Poupon, Monsieur...um, Inspector...”

“Glad to be of service,” replied Richard. “And my name is Richard Poole.”

“Ah! That’s it!” Marcel exclaimed in triumph.

“What’s it?” Richard asked, bewildered. This was the second time the boy had startled him.

“Richard is the name of the goat that Camille loves a lot,” said the boy, giving the detective inspector one last smile of thanks as he went out of the station with his Poupon.

Richard the Chief of Police let out an audible sigh, which sounded more like a frustrated little groan. 'Really? Some Richards have all the luck,' he thought haplessly.

* * *

 


End file.
